Lightning Bolts and Filibuster Fireworks
by sweetevangeline
Summary: For three years, Hermione has been in love with Harry Potter...until one fateful night changes her mind. A chance meeting with George Weasley on Diagon Alley leads her to believe that Life Without Harry may not be so bad, after all.
1. Prologue: Lightning Strikes

Disclaimer: I had a tuna sub tonight. Not seared tuna from that neat restaurant on top of the building downtown that charges, like, eighty bucks for their seared tuna. Honestly. Who can afford eighty smackers for some stupid fish? Oh. Wait. J.K. Rowling can, because any of the characters you recognize from the Potterverse belong to her. Her Harry. Her Hermione. Her copyright. Me? I've just been mucking about with them..  
  
Thanks to Ali, for her visions of rosy doom. Thanks also go to Dell and Mike. And to all the other moment-makers typing away while the sky lightens.  
  
This is a prologue. Perhaps a story of its own, but the info'll come in handy, I suppose. Please, give it a read and let me know what you think. It may be a bit wordy in places, but thanks for reading.  
  
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"and right there for a minute, I knew you so well"  
  
-tori amos, "in the springtime of his voodoo"  
  
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It was quiet in the deep Surrey night. It was warm, but not too warm. The stars were out and there wasn't a cloud to be seen in the sky. A waning moon filled one portion of the velvety sky and there were a few planets visible here and there to the educated eye. The only sounds were the soft rustles of animals and an occasional scrape of a foot from the girl on the roof.  
  
Wait. The girl? On the roof?  
  
Upon closer examination, it was a slender girl, her head and shoulders nearly obscured by the mounds of curly hair falling unbound around her. Her attire consisted of a pair of thin pajama shorts and a matching tank top, her feet covered in, inexplicably, slippers that had three dog heads on each foot. There was an anklet around her left ankle, with a single lightning bolt charm on it. She'd bought it solely on a whim one day in Muggle London and wore it as a sort of personal penance. She had nothing with her save a thin wooden object. She was laying back on her elbows, her knees elevated towards the sky, her head tipped back to look at the planets (obviously this was an educated set of eyes) that didn't twinkle among the oceans of stars.  
  
Funny, that, that planets didn't twinkle. Of course it was because they had atmospheres and whatnot, but it still amused her. Yes, Hermione knew all about not twinkling. After all, she'd been the rock amongst all the stars, hadn't she? The girl stopped her perusal of the night skies and simply leaned back on the rooftop, thinking about...well, things. Things like her future, her past and why she was glad she wasn't in Scotland. So glad to not be up north.  
  
Summer hadn't come soon enough for Hermione Granger. She was finally out of Hogwarts and finally away from Harry Potter. Of course, it wasn't Harry so much that she minded. It was seeing Susan Bones draped across him every available moment. It had driven her crazy, when Harry started seeing Susan. She was happy that Harry was happy, honestly, she was, it was just his choice of paramour. She had a tendency to pop up here and there, to say the least. She'd managed to get into every single silly class of theirs, totally disrupting the work environment and Hermione had let it go, because Harry was her friend and above all, she wanted him to be happy. For Merlin's sake, the cow had accidentally started playing footsie with Hermione during the N.E.W.T.'s. She wasn't even a Gryffindor, she was a Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff! In the Gryffindor N.E.W.T. session.  
  
Well, she'd been there until Hermione pulled rank and, as Head Girl, decided to inform Professor McGonagall exactly who was attending which sessions of the exams. Of course, the good professor had been livid. Harry had merely shrugged and asked Hermione if she didn't mind him not coming to the Prefects meeting she had scheduled that night so he could make it up to his Susie. She, of course, smiled and told him that she could probably smooth away his absence, possibly, maybe, but that perhaps he should try to make an appearance.  
  
She'd really wanted to tell him that Quidditch was the sport he should stick to instead of professional tonsil-hockey and that he'd better have his arse at the meeting and that she was tired of covering for him and that she didn't know why he was so confused when Malfoy got to be Head Boy. And then maybe stomp on his foot, for good measure. After all, Draco Malfoy, while a complete git, had some sense of responsibility and managed to keep his strumpets on the side when there were more important matters to attend to. They had come to a careful truce, he respected her ability to perform academically and otherwise and she did the same. It didn't hurt that his father had mysteriously disappeared at the Final Battle while he was dueling Hermione, allowing Draco to drop all this evil nonsense and get down to snogging and a few harmless pranks. Yes, all in all, Draco Malfoy was almost palatable when he was just a teenage boy.  
  
Of course, on the other hand, Harry had defeated Voldemort, so he, too, was entitled to a little fun. So what if he noticed Susan's charms? They were certainly obvious enough. She had a figure that was quite rounded in the right places and mounds of red ringlets. Hermione, with her slender build and brown waves, couldn't compete. Not that she'd spent all of her time in the library. She'd gone out with Seamus when Dean was out of town a few times and she'd even been spotted having a butterbeer with the aforementioned Head Boy once or twice. And then both of them had disappeared for a while, only to appear again later, looking slightly sly. No one was quite sure what had happened, only that Hermione was still able to touch unicorns.  
  
That, as Harry and Ron were quite fond of reminding each other when Draco had said something particularly snarky to the two of them, left a lot of room to work. She often enjoyed it when they said something ridiculous like that because it gave her a few moments to work out some of her aggression towards them. After all, what business was it of theirs? They had been too busy off with whatever had possessed them to stop speaking to Hermione. And she'd been there for them. Through thick and thin. Her reward was accusations of lewd behavior with Malfoy and the cold shoulder whenever someone who would snog them came around. As far as they were concerned, she was an asexual being. Popping off with Draco had disturbed their delicate sense of What Was True and they didn't like it a bit. Eventually, it blew over and just became a minor joke to the trio, but it still distressed Hermione to think about it.  
  
She hated being Just Hermione. "Just" might as well have been attached to her name. "Oh, Susan, of course I'm not cheating when I say I go to the library. It's JustHermione, so you know we're doing homework. What else would we be doing?" She was the third. The homework source. The backup, the excuse, the friend.  
  
She wasn't even sure they still considered her their friend and, furthermore, she didn't want to be sodding Harry Potter's sodding friend. She wanted to drown in his eyes and kiss those soft lips and feel those gorgeous Quidditch muscles rippling under her fingers and trace the scar on her forehead that matched her anklet. But none of that was happening. It simply wasn't occurring, hadn't occurred and now here she was, having wasted all her opportunities. Sitting on a roof after seventh year alone. Harry and Ron were probably having a jolly good time with their girls and here she was. Sitting on a bloody roof ruining her slippers. Of course, she and the boys owled each other, but the missives were surprisingly brief and impersonal. Ron told her about his girl(s) and working for his brothers at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, Harry told him about Susan and living with Sirius and his mounds of offers from Quidditch teams and Hermione would write back about the texts she was reading in preparation for her potions apprenticeship in the fall and the museums she visited with her mother.  
  
They had still been in contact, obviously, at school but it was nothing compared to the intimacy the three had shared when they were defeating the Darkest Lord ever. There was the old saying that everything looks different in peacetime, but it was a bit absurd, really, the level they took it to. They would still dine together and once in a while, if their girlfriends weren't there, they'd have a chat in the common room. It smarted, though, that since they thought they couldn't snog her they ignored her. She couldn't help it if they'd grown up together. She couldn't help it that she could have conversations with them without blushing. She had known them and they had known her and she didn't understand why they were letting all this come between them.  
  
Besides, one of them could've snogged her anytime he wanted. And now he was gone. Doing whatever it was that he was doing. She gave a little shriek, as unbidden, those images of what he might be doing floated through her mind. Rubbing her palms over her eyes and reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood, she tried desperately to get rid of the vivid pictures of him and Susan Bones. She took a few meditative breaths and thought that maybe it was time for her to get to bed. Sitting up, she scraped her feet once again on the shingles of the roof and picked up her wand, preparing to Apparate back down to her bedroom. She had just closed her eyes to focus on her bed, where she hoped to land, when she heard the unmistakable popping of someone else Apparating in the split second before she did.  
  
Hermione was a child of the war and, therefore, didn't stop to think. After all, Voldemort had had legions of followers and she was not only Muggleborn, but she had been lauded as one of the Trio that had defeated him. Thinking of the danger that could be lurking among her mother's roses, she was immediately up on her feet, balancing on the gently sloping roof. Her wand was up and in dueling position and she was looking around wildly. No one was on the roof with her, so that was clear. No curses had drifted up so she must also be okay, but she had heard someone say something very softly down there. Honestly. Couldn't a girl sulk a bit in peace? She carefully began walking to the edge of the roof to get a better idea of the situation when she he heard a soft swoosh that she recognized as a broom.  
  
She laughed softly to herself, thinking that while it was nice to not be alone anymore, some people should announce their presence better. Wand at the ready, she finally reached the edge of the roof. Swallowing her nervousness, she looked down. There, sitting on a broomstick and looking into her bedroom window, where all of her laundry was laying out, was Harry Potter. Surprisingly, her first thought was that she needed to distract him before he saw her underwear.  
  
"Harry," she hissed, "what in the name of Merlin are you doing here?" That's right, girl, she thought to herself, stay mad. He felt like he could just come popping in like this? Oh, god, it was two a.m.! More importantly, had he just guessed the location of her bedroom? He and Ron had been here for a weekend in sixth year, but how could he still remember?  
  
"'Mione," he slurred, looking up at her, "I just wanted to see how my best girl was. . ." Oh. That explained it. Slur in the words, the words themselves, the glazed green eyes.  
  
Harry Potter was not only looking at her unmentionables, floating on a broomstick in her backyard, he was drunk, as well. Wonderful. She just stared at him for a minute, her mind whirling as she tried to decide what to do. She could send him away. She could tell him exactly what his "best girl" thought. She could go along with it. Maybe that's what she should do. He was drunk and who knew what a drunk Harry Potter would do if he got upset. She could also do a sobriety charm. Yes. A sobriety charm.  
  
While she was deciding what exactly to do with Harry, he was deciding what to do with her. She was a girl. Hermione was a girl and Harry had just been broken up with and she'd always been there for him before, right? Hadn't Ron told him that maybe Hermione fancied him a bit back in sixth year? Surely she would've gotten over that and wouldn't mind a quick snog with an old mate of hers. She'd wanted to do it a year and a half ago, so it must be okay now, his inebriated brain reasoned with itself. So while Hermione was standing there, staring at him, Harry slowly drifted his broom closer to the rooftop, the edge of which she was still perched on. She saw him coming closer.  
  
"That's right, Harry. Why don't you come up here with me and get off that bro. . ." Hermione never had time to finish her sentence. By now Harry had made it to her level and reached out and put one of his hands on either side of her face. She had a second to wonder how his broomstick was hovering so perfectly and then he was kissing her.  
  
Harry Potter was kissing her. Harry, her Harry, was kissing her and here she was, standing there. What was she to do? He was drunk, and that was a negative thing. But didn't alcohol just lower your inhabitions? She thought about it for a moment, before parting her lips to allow his tongue into her mouth and then they were truly kissing, all her late night dorm dreams were coming true and she didn't feel like JustHermione right now, that was for sure. She'd waited for this day for three years and it was finally here. She threw herself into it with all the fire of her unrequited love and then, then she tasted the Firewhiskey.  
  
Reality came crashing down like. . .she couldn't think of anything extreme enough. A lightning bolt, humorously enough, was the first analogy that came to mind. She had waited three years for this and he'd never noticed. Not once had he shown an iota of interest in her that way. Merlin only knows why he was here tonight. Probably got tossed and decided he'd come here to make sure he was still the great Harry Potter. What better way then to pull Hermione, the girl who'd never even remotely acted interested in him? Ron had almost blown her cover once, in sixth year, with some teasing, but she'd managed to defuse that situation. No, she made sure she stayed harmless. She was his partner in crime, one of the Dream Team, they'd stayed up late nights in the common room whispering secrets and he was treating her like just another fangirl, to be used and then forgotten. She'd carefully protected her secret, like a precious jewel and here he was, dammit, drunk on Firewhisky and hovering over her roof kissing her.  
  
Oh. This, her mind decided, was not the way it was supposed to be. And it had to stop. She ran her hands up his arms to his shoulders, like she wanted a better grip. Which she did, but only for what she did next. She steeled herself and then, thinking of all the times Harry had ignored her at breakfast after sniffling about the pressures they were all bowing under and then copying her notes, she pushed. It wasn't a light push, either, since Harry was drunk and those Quidditch muscles were no laughing matter.  
  
Gravity being what it is, Hermione was rewarded when Harry promptly let go and quickly moved his hands towards his broomstick, which was wobbling under his unbalanced frame. Alas, his reflexes weren't quite what they should've been, thanks to Old Ogden, and his hands came down about six inches to the left of where his broomstick actually was. Which was how Harry Potter, the Boy Who Saved The World ended up nose over arse in her mother's prizewinning rosebushes. Hermione, oddly enough, was quickly trying to come up with an excuse for the destruction of her mother's roses instead of wondering about his safety. He'd taken enough falls off his broom at much higher heights, he'd be fine. And, now, she thought, let's see what happens when I do this. Firing off a sobriety charm at Harry, she wasn't surprised when he looked completely baffled.  
  
"Hermione? How did you get here?" Harry looked around for a moment. "Oh. This isn't Wizard's Way." Hermione wasn't surprised, but instead that moment was the culmination of all the fears of the last five minutes. They had run through her head, had their time and she was ready for this. Now or never, Granger, her inner voice murmured. She sat down on the edge of her roof, brushing her palms off of on her legs.  
  
"Harry, you're in my backyard. In Surrey, at my parents' house," she said softly, noting his look of confusion move to one of shock, "and you've just kissed me. I'd like to know why." He looked away from her as he touched a hand to his lips and noticed that they were definitely feeling a little foreign. The tip of his pink tongue came out to touch them and there was the slightest scent of the vanilla lip gloss Hermione always used. Denial not an option, he stood there for a minute, looking up at her as if he was trying desperately to come up with something, anything to tell her. His answer, as they both knew, was inevitable and so was the explanation he was sure to give. She briefly considered just Apparating down to her bedroom and setting up a quick ward, but she'd come this far. She was no coward and being Harry Potter's best friend had put her in the path of things far scarier than the tragic looking boy in front of her. It was time, once and for all, to get this over with.  
  
She tried desperately to stifle her laughter in the unending moments between her question and his reply. Fifteen minutes ago, she would've given anything to be kissing Harry and now she had. She was now positive she could forever identify the taste of his kisses and she regretted it deeply. Of course, she could convince herself that this hadn't happened. That he hadn't used her in a scenario fashioned from the nightmares of every teenage girl. She was his safety blanket. She had an Order of Merlin, First Class in her mother's curio cabinet. She had given a talk about the importance of tolerance towards Muggleborn witches and wizards to an international consortium. And here she was, a placebo. She was the apple and he wanted the candy bar, but in a pinch.  
  
She wasn't going to go that route. Harry would love her or not love her and that's how it would be, either way. Besides, she rationalized, anyone smart enough for her would've come up with a good answer by now and anyone brave enough for her would've told the truth. Sad, that. Harry was a Gryffindor, brave and true and all that and right now he was neither. He had been fighting the forces of evil since he held a wand. And here he was, fidgeting among her mum's rosebushes.  
  
"Harry," she said even more softly, "I'm waiting." Then and only then did he look up again, and his glance was strangely confusing. It was shocked and scared and.was that longing? No, of course not. Couldn't be. Harry would just send Susie six dozen roses tomorrow and he'd be right back to where he had been. Hermione exhaled deeply, relieved to know that after this incident, she would never be where she was again. Harry, she thought with a sad smile, wasn't the man she had thought he was. His next actions only proved it.  
  
"I. . .I don't know. Her. . .Hermione. . .I can't. No." And then, surprising them both, he got on his broom and flew off into the night. Hermione was shocked. Stunned. He showed up, drunk, kissed her and then didn't explain anything. Just flew away without a by-your-leave. Nothing. No promises to owl, no sputtered sentences full of remorse, not even an inappropriate plea for advice. She knew she'd read about whatever had caused him to show up here, drunk and alone, in one or another of the wizarding newspapers. It wouldn't be a mystery this time tomorrow.  
  
No, she thought as she pulled her knees under her chin and wrapped her arms around them, the true mystery was if she would ever be able to look him in the eye again. This wasn't the Harry she knew and loved. Her Harry would've at least said something, even if it was just a stall tactic meant to distract her. If he had only been honest, she could've worked through this and eventually been up to par, but he wouldn't even give her that. Surely he had felt the message in her kiss. How could he have not responded to that, even if it was to tell her no? Maybe in the last year she had overlooked some personality change in him. Maybe it was her, maybe she wasn't enough for the famous Harry Potter. There had to be some rational explanation for his behavior. She could understand if he didn't love her, but she had a difficult time dealing with his inability to tell her.  
  
So now she knew why he was always The Boy that did such and such. She knew now that if Harry had one ounce of maturity, he would've stayed here. She had faced the issue bravely, she thought, and he had ran. Harry wasn't right for her and maybe he never had been. Perhaps, she surmised, it was the battle, the urgent need of the times that had drawn her to him. Just as it was his need to be an average bloke that drove her away. Average wasn't her forte, she'd never understood it. She had faced her challenges, be it scholastic or otherwise. She could never respect someone who didn't do the same. Harry had shown bravery when it mattered and for that, she was thankful. But this time, the time when it had mattered to her, was the one that would always echo in her mind.  
  
Well, she thought, that was that. Three years, gone in thirty minutes. Her hand drifted down to her anklet, then stilled over the lightning bolt charm. A moment passed while her brow furrowed and the events of the evening replayed in her mind once more. She considered owling him asking for a meeting, just to clear the air. Maybe she'd make something up to cover for the awkwardness. Maybe he wouldn't remember. She could wait for him to realize what had been happening and then. . .  
  
No, she thought, she really did deserve more. And with that, she took off the anklet, Apparated back down to her room and put it in the jewelry box her grandmother had given her. Her grandmother had been right, she mused, sometimes even she, Hermione Granger, the cleverest witch in centuries, didn't get it right the first time. She'd give herself tonight to think on it and tomorrow, she'd start Life Without Harry. Laying her hand on top of the jewelry box for a moment more, she closed her eyes and took some more calming breaths. She walked over to her bed, gave Crookshanks a casual swipe while he looked at her with some concern in his intelligent eyes.  
  
"No, Crooks, I'm not fine. But I will be." With that, she turned off the light and crawled into bed. Her faithful familiar crawled up beside her and tucked his head under her chin, nudging her until she reached out a hand to stroke his back. With the Kneazle's soft purring in her ear to ground her, she let herself cry over Harry for the first and last time. 


	2. The Lady Vanishes

Disclaimer: Well, hrm. Checked my bank account and there aren't millions of dollars in it. So I guess that J.K. Rowling hasn't decided to gift me with ownership of the Harry Potter series. Tsk.  
  
Thanks go, as always, to Alison, who I'm basically writing this for, because she says such *nice* things about my fictions. For Mike, who listens to practically incoherent murmurings about characterization and Britisms at three a.m.. And, oddly enough, for my tenth grade English teacher, who was married on the Winter Solstice. In-ter-est-ing, I always thought.  
  
Here we go, chapter one! In which our hero *finally* shows up. Again, please read and let me know what you think. I'm developing slowly, so. . .be patient, ducks. And also be warned, this is even longer than the last chapter.  
  
Incidentally, thanks, Brittany.  
  
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"every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end"  
  
-semisonic, "closing time"  
  
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It was funny, Hermione thought, how two months can seem like seven years when seven years had gone by like two months. During the summer, when the shadows stay long and it's possible to read outside for almost twelve hours, she felt like she was trapped in some sort of time warp, like she'd broken a time turner mid-spin and she was forever stuck in some sort of strange loop. She'd tried to keep busy, studying and reading the Daily Prophet and practicing spells behind the high privacy fence her father had put up around the backyard in honor of her ability to practice magic outside of school.  
  
Today she was engaging in a rare flight of teenage fancy, turning blades of grass into flowers. She was quickly running out of flowers to transform grass into, though, seeing as she had turned one poor innocent blade into a pansy. She wrinkled her nose just looking at it. That was one Slytherin she ended up hating even after You-Know-Who left their world, whereas most of them she had felt slightly sorry for. She still remembered how angry Pansy Parkinson had been when Draco stood her up for the Graduation Ball to go with Ginny Weasley. The looks when they had walked in had been worth a million Galleons. But that was months ago and Hermione could take some small comfort that she was in her favorite corner of the backyard and Pansy was far, far away. Not only was Hermione in the yard, but to completely the pretty English summer picture, Crookshanks, seemingly unaware of his mistress' sulky spell, was slinking about just a few feet away, hunting a small white butterfly. Her parents were at work that day, so she was alone.  
  
Having just turned a three-inch high piece of grass into a four-foot high Bird of Paradise plant, Hermione blinked as she realized that she was bored. She had actually finished all the reading she had assigned herself in preparations for her move to Puddlemere in the fall. She was going to be apprenticing at a company that specialized in MediPotions and she had spent a good deal of the last two months studying every text on the subject she could find. Hermione had a lot of resources, so she was rather disappointed that she seemed to have exhausted them all. She had a strange suspicion, completely unconfirmed, that Albus Dumbledore, upon noticing how much material Madame Pince was owling out to her favorite former Hogwarts student, had instructed her to stop so Hermione would end up in this highly deplorable situation.  
  
Of course, Dumbledore had probably twinkled in that irritating fashion that he had as he instructed Madame Pince to tell Hermione that all the Owls were on vacation and that she should be doing the same. When she had Flooed to enquire about Apparating in, she was told that Hogwarts was being fumigated and that all the staff were about to depart for the last part of the summer and that she was far too pale. What rot. She didn't understand why Dumbledore had so encouraged Harry and Ron to mess about, anyway, and why he was pulling her down with them. Either way, the Headmaster's "secret" desire that the three of them act like children meant that she had spent the last two weeks slouching about in this deplorable fashion and had a week more to go.  
  
Frowningly sulkily, she rolled over onto her back, thumping her arms against the ground in a rather satisfying fashion, and found her mind wandering completely unbidden to that night two months ago when Harry Potter had invaded her peaceful summer. He'd flown off into the night and the next day, oh the surprise, a lengthy story about his breakup with Susan had appeared in the Daily Prophet. The subsequent picture of them making up, disgustingly, had appeared three days later and caused Hermione to wish that there were still Dark Lords roaming about so the paper would report news that people actually cared about instead of all this nonsense. Honestly, the Prophet was no better than those silly tabloids her aunt read these days. She still remembered, vividly, tearing the paper apart page by page and then absently dropping them into a tiny bluebell flame she had conjured in one of her mother's saucers, much to said mother's dismay. Later that day she'd sent Harry an owl congratulating him and carefully not making any reference to the Incident, as she liked to call it.  
  
Two weeks later she'd gotten a reply from Harry saying that he was sorry he hadn't written sooner, but he was on his way to Quidditch training camp. Would she mind terribly if they caught up at the end of the summer and, no, she didn't have to send a reply, he'd be in touch when he wasn't so busy. Her first thought was that this couldn't be Harry. Even Harry wouldn't send a missive containing such absurd sentiments. She has almost expected to find an autographed picture tucked in the parchment somewhere. After realizing that the messy scrawl was indeed his (and checking it for tampering charms), her second was that she had no such plans to do any catching up. As far as she was concerned, Harry Potter was someone she would respond to politely if she ran into him in public and otherwise she was going to forget he existed. Oddly enough, her relationship with Ron was still cordial, if cooler than she would've liked, but she figured that was just fallout from the events that were unfolding with the three of them. Which didn't surprise her. In their last year at Hogwarts, Ron and Harry had bonded over girls and become much closer, apparently, that she had thought at the beginning of the summer. Hermione surmised that she had been tolerated as a useful source of information about the opposite sex.  
  
Which was something she was not going to dwell on, she told herself firmly. She had felt very out of sorts this summer because of such thoughts. She was done being Harry Potter's doormat. And Ron? Well, it didn't take much effort to be polite and he was far too thick to see that polite was, indeed, about the extent of their relationship these days. And they had made that choice as well. No matter how much it hurt her, she was completely going to let them decide what they wanted to do, what their level of involvement was going to be. If they wanted to be her friends, she had no problems welcoming them back with open arms. Otherwise, she wasn't going to chase them. Hermione Granger, she thought to herself, did not chase people.  
  
She prided herself on the way she was handling this. But there was still that lurking suspicion that if she stopped to think about it too deeply, her heart would probably break into three distinct parts and she'd only keep a third. She laughed softly, realizing to herself that that was silly sentimentality, and she didn't have time for it. In fact, it wasn't like it had been all that much of a surprise. People grew apart, after all. She wasn't going to linger on, like some silly person. No, sir, Hermione Granger was headed for great things and useless crushes on prats weren't part of them. Nor did she have room for fading friendships. If they were going to be her friends, they would come around. In the meantime, though, she had been staring up at the sky for twenty minutes musing about seventh year and Harry and Ron and that whole mess, exactly like she had said she wouldn't.  
  
No, Hermione sighed to herself, it wouldn't do, this inactivity. She was trying to get on with her life, basically, and here she was, moping about her admittedly beautiful backyard. But it was still her backyard and so, she decided, she was going to go to Diagon Alley and see if she could pick up a little more reading material. She went into the house, changed into a light blue sundress and pulled her hair back in a messy ponytail with a matching ribbon. Hermione smiled at the archaic piece of cloth in her hair and wondered, for the millionth time, why she didn't use elastic bands. It must have been because of all her time spent in the wizarding world. After all, combs and ribbon were easily available, but it was nearly impossible to get some no-metal elastic ponytail holders at Gladrags. Descending to the first floor and stooping to pet the now-indoors Crookshanks, she was feeling considerably better about the day. She jotted a quick note to her parents and, walking into the backyard, Apparated to the small park in the alley especially for that purpose.  
  
Hermione had always been rather ambivalent about Apparating. She always hit her mark and had begun to do so almost immediately after she began training, which had been early. Of course, she, Harry and Ron had gotten to train for it early - after all, who knew when they'd need it? It had been a blatant bit of favoritism on the part of everyone involved, but it had been considered a necessary evil. And while she never hated doing things she was good at it, she didn't have to clap for joy every time she purposefully winked herself out of existance. And there was something funny about Apparating. There was always the inevitable bit of nausea and feelings of insecurity that came with appearing somewhere without a full grasp of the exact nature of the point you were appearing in.  
  
For example, how was she to know that George Weasley was standing on the Apparation point at Dumbledore Park? Furthermore, how was she to know he had his hands full of dye his mother had managed to make from the Weasleys' garden? She couldn't have predicted, either, that George had forgotten to screw one of the lids on tightly when he had inspected a jar of it. After all, Trelawney had always said she was terrible at Divination, had she not? And so, her Inner Eye clouded, Hermione hadn't been aware of any part of that when she Apparated to the park, and hence, was quite surprised to be not only laying on top of the aforementioned George Weasley, but covered in violent orange dye. Ah, the irony, she thought to herself, Ron would've had a picnic with this. She'd ended up Chudley Cannons orange and landed on the wrong Weasley. For a second, she didn't move at all, she'd just lifted her head.  
  
"Good afternoon, George, how are you?" Her voice was more polite than anything and as she dropped her head, she missed George's look of surprise at being recognized sliding into a smirk.  
  
"Not George, Hermione Granger. I'm Fred. Tsk. And you were a prefect." The redhead smiled engagingly at her. "Incidentally, are you planning on getting up? I mean, not that this is uncomfortable, but I can think of a few other places we could try it." And at that, the smirk went straight to a leer.  
  
"Indeed, I was," Hermione said as she started to get up, "both thinking of getting up, obviously, and a prefect. Goodness knows I caught you doing enough at Hogwarts to tell the difference, by the way. You, George, have a clump of freckles right here," she said, reaching a finger out to hover just above his cheek, "that Fred does not. Not to mention all those holidays I visited the Burrow before you two moved out." George looked down at her finger, hovering close enough to his cheek that it felt like it was actually resting on his skin, and then met her eyes. What he saw in them made him slightly worried. It was like something was missing within them. And it made him wonder if maybe she wouldn't like to go to the Burrow and have a bit of tea with his mum and maybe one of those nice scones she still pressed on them when he and Fred visited for lunch. She flushed then, slightly, under his gaze and slid her eyes away. He looked at her face for a moment longer and then he, too, looked away. By this time, she had fully risen and was surveying the damage to her dress.  
  
"Umm, right then." George looked a little put out at being recognized before he'd had a chance to go anywhere with it, but he remembered that Hermione had always been able to tell them apart. Which became unfortunate once she was a prefect. Much more difficult to get away with things when someone quite clever was running the show. Assisting in running the show, anyway. And Hermione was nothing if not quite clever. In fact, she'd already managed to charm away the supposedly indelible dye she gotten all over her dress when she had landed on him.  
  
"You know, George, I would ask what that color is for, but I'm not sure I want to know. It's hideous." She spoke like he had asked her about the weather. Seven years of various Weasley antics had taught her that she most likely didn't want to ask any questions, because those would lead to answers, and the answers would lead to big headaches. Besides, truth be told, she wasn't really all that eager to spend much time with George, because he was quite likely to ask her if she'd heard from Ron or invite her to the Burrow or something of that sort. While she wasn't angry at the Weasleys, it brought back memories of a better time that she wasn't sure she could handle.  
  
George beamed down at her and then at the jars. "Ah. Awful orange for our newest product! It's an Exploding Quill. Every time you write something that's not quite true it explodes." Against her better judgment, Hermione found herself becoming a bit interested in the concept.  
  
"Hrm. Not good for a typical student's letters home, then. Or Divination homework, which you used to cheat at all the time setting, might I add, a horrible example for.well, a horrible example." She said the last part in a rush, George noticed, as if she were avoiding mentioning names. "Honestly, designing a quill like that. It's a bit hypocritical, isn't it?"  
  
"Well. Yes. But we're not at Hogwarts, now, are we? Was all Fred's idea, actually, and a brilliant one at that. We figure they'll sell like mad around the holidays. Gifts for your more sporting friends and your enemies, alike. Perfect idea. Chaos at Hogwarts and money in our pockets." George looked smugly down at the jars he still held.  
  
Hermione's eyes widened a bit and she tried to hold back a laugh When she found she honestly couldn't help it, she giggled. George, who was still thinking of the frantically studious girl he had known before, got a bit of a stunned look on his face and joined in. After all, this was Hermione Granger. She was always vaguely disapproving of he and Fred, she never laughed with them or at any of their ideas. Most of the time she'd simply rolled her eyes and flounced away. And, now that he looked, he had to admit that the year and a half since he'd last seen her properly had treated her kindly. She had grown a bit taller, stretching out the last of her childhood roundness to a slenderness that wasn't unattractive on her. Her hair had been tamed as well and she seemed to carry herself with the confidence all the honors she had received should have given her. And, yet, there was something else that had changed and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.  
  
George cleared his throat after the two of them stopped chuckling. "So. Meeting Harry and my git of a brother?" He had meant the question to be light, but he didn't miss the way Hermione's face darkened when he mentioned the two of them. Interesting, that was.  
  
"Umm, no, I'm just looking for a little reading material." She seemed nervous and glanced around a few times. "Are they around here?"  
  
"Actually, Ron definitely is. He's working at 3W today. I think, but I'm not sure, that Harry might be stopping by." George noticed that when he said that Hermione actually started a bit then regained her composure. He decided to try something. . . "Maybe you'd like to come visit? Weasley's Wizard Wheezes is looking lovely now that it's open. I don't think you've been to see us yet, have you? And you should. We could use someone to look over some of our new ideas."  
  
"Ah, no. I don't think I quite have time, you see, my parents are expecting me back and I'm not sure I've remembered to feed Crookshanks and I've got to pack for Puddlemere and, George, it was really nice to see you and I wish I could stop by the store, but I must run, but you'll tell your mother I said hello, right?" He wasn't sure she'd breathed the whole time she'd said that and was shocked when, taking a breath, she reached out, touched his arm once and turned to leave. She had smiled but something in her eyes looked a bit distressed.  
  
George started forward, as if to grab her arm, to stop her from running off so quickly, but she had disappeared into the other witches and wizards strolling along Diagon Alley that sunny day. He sighed, inexplicably, and started towards the store. It was definitely possible, no, probable from the way she'd run off, that his wanker of a younger brother had something to do with this. Maybe he'd ask a few questions, see if his younger sister knew anything about this. Perhaps, he'd have her stop by the store. She wouldn't come of her own free will but, he thought as he smiled his special Weasley-twin-up-to-something-bad-smile, maybe she'd stop by anyway. Looking resolute, he started off down the alley towards the store.  
  
In the meantime, Hermione, having found her way to Flourish and Blotts was feeling confused. She hadn't meant to run like that. Hadn't she, just this morning, been talking about how she was going to get over what had happened with Harry and Ron? Ron worked here, she could hardly hope to avoid him. And what if Harry signed to Puddlemere? She couldn't spend her entire life avoiding them. Sighing, she ran her hands over the fronts of a shelf of books and, selecting a few, decided that she'd had quite enough of the wizarding world for today and after she'd paid, made her way back down to Dumbledore Park. She couldn't help but feel a little ashamed, though, for stopping the wonderful conversation she was having with, of all people, George Weasley. And, sighing once again, she realized that slinking down the alley wasn't exactly helping her pride either. Laughing mockingly at herself, she clutched her bag and Apparated, landing neatly in the backyard.  
  
Looking lazily at her watch, she decided to go up to her room to read for a while. She'd gotten two of the Potions journals she didn't subscribe to and a copy of Boom!: Just What Makes Good Potions Go Bad? to read this afternoon. She remembered plans to go out to dinner with her parents being made, but now she wasn't quite so sure she would be good company.  
  
Entering her room, the same one she'd had since she was a child, Hermione felt a sense of calm come over her. The room was exactly the way she wanted it thanks to her parents, who had filled it with lovely things in an attempt to lure Hermione home for holidays. One side of the room was floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with various texts she'd collected over the years. In front of the bookshelf there was a chaise lounge, draped with a yellow quilt Hermione's grandmother had given her. One wall had a large window, complete with window seat, which had a desk to the left of it. Her desk was almost impossibly neat and entirely unremarkable, except for a large inkstand, complete with a large quill, and a roll of parchment on something that looked like a paper towel hanger. Those looked largely unused, but there was a notebook lying underneath her laptop and an assortment of pens in a mug from her parents' practice. The rest of her room was taken up with her four-poster bed, which her parents had bought after she'd come home raving about how lovely the beds at Hogwarts were, and her dresser. Two other doors were in her bedroom, one leading to the little bathroom that was off of her room and one into her closet. The walls were crème colored and most of the furnishings were slightly darker wood. Looking at these reassuring surroundings, Hermione settled into the chaise, a book in one hand, the other absently petting Crookshanks.  
  
She stayed that way for about an hour until her reading was disturbed by an odd tapping noise. To be honest, she had actually succumbed to the summer sunshine and started to daydream a little and the tap-tap-tap had startled her so badly, she dropped her book. She was actually kind of glad she had been disrupted, the thoughts about actually going to see George were a bit much. The entirely time she'd known him, he'd been trouble. Fun trouble during the summers, but he had little respect for authority and didn't study nearly as much as he should have. He would've been a great student if he had only focused. But the tapping was still going on, reminding Hermione what had dragged her out of her reverie in the first place. It was an owl, she could tell that much, but it was unfamiliar. Most of the owls her friends used tapped in a certain rhythm and this one was different. Perhaps it was the owl from Unicorn Horns and Boomslang Skins with the last of the potions ingredients she had ordered. Excellent, she thought as she went to the window.  
  
Only to promptly stop in wonder. The owl was no ordinary owl. It was roughly the size of Hedwig, but that's where all similarities stopped. This owl was rainbow striped. Rainbows! Like a piece of candy or a stuffed toy her father had won her at a carnival years ago. Remembering it was here to deliver something to her, she opened the window and let it in. It sailed gently around her head three times, raining a glittery substance on her room and person. Hermione didn't quite know what to think. Should she be angry? Was it dropping something dangerous in her room? Since she didn't have any experiments out that could be ruined, she decided not to be too worried and casually investigated the sparkling substance, only to discover it was, in fact, harmless pink glitter. By this time, the owl was perching on her desk, holding one leg out proudly and hooting a little. Hermione laughed a little and gave it a friendly ruffle of the feathers as she unattached the parchment it was bearing on its leg.  
  
"You certainly are something else, aren't you?" She smiled at the creature and gave it a few owl treats she kept in her desk for the purpose. Hermione had always been fond of wizarding owls. They were such smart creatures. Though you'd never tell from the way this one was carrying on, hooting proudly and hopping about. "Who are you from, silly owl?" And she unrolled the letter she had just received. Unfortunately, as she unrolled it, more of the glitter escaped, covering an even larger area of her room in sparkles. A small rectangular box also fell out. She looked at the mess disparagingly for a moment, decided a quick spell when she was done would take care of it and started to read.  
  
Oi, Hermione!  
  
After seeing you looking so blue today, I decided to try to see if another color would suit you. Of course, maybe blue would work better. You looked brilliant in your blue dress today. Scientific experimentation needs to be done here, I believe. Feel free to enclose a picture of you in the pink glitter.  
  
(Here, Hermione almost dropped the letter in shock. Was George Weasley actually flirting with her?)  
  
I hope you enjoyed the first test of the Cloud Parchment (Rains Down Glitter, Every Time!) and said hello to Gratiano. Make sure you tell him how pretty he is, he's awfully vain. I've also enclosed something else. And, remember, I told you you should come visit.  
  
Forge  
  
P.S. The glitter won't go away with a spell, but will disappear sometime. We're not quite sure how long it takes, though, so let us know.  
  
Merlin. This mess was going to be in her room for who knows how long and it was entirely George Weasley's fault. And it was pink, of all colors. Pink!  
  
George,  
  
This glitter is making a horrible mess so if any pictures will be forthcoming, they will certainly be of my sparkling nightmare of a bedroom. Incidentally, I'm not the least bit fond of pink, so next time you decide to use me as a guinea pig, do have the courtesy to ask. My mother will be most unhappy, I believe.  
  
Gratiano is your owl's name? I wasn't aware you'd read Shakespeare. He's a lovely owl and I think his coloring is just perfect for his place of employment. Which, by the way, I will visit as soon as my schedule permits.  
  
Thank you for your thoughts, George, and I really do hope to see you again soon.  
  
Hermione Granger  
  
P.S. Cover yourself in glitter and find out how long it takes.  
  
She laughed a little as she attached the parchment to the waiting owl and, with another pat on the head, sent it off into the afternoon sky. George was really a nice sort, she mused, for all his mischief making. Attractive, too, now that she was old enough to appreciate it and free of other ties, imaginary or otherwise. He was tall and had the striking Weasley red hair and deep brown eyes. He was also intelligent than she'd originally suspected, apparently. She'd known that he and Fred were smart enough to run a business and clever enough to invent their own products, but she hadn't been aware that either one of them had read The Merchant of Venice, as their owl proved. In fact, George wasn't a bad sort and it was a shame she hadn't noticed before. She pulled a face at that last part. Who knew how much she'd missed out on because of her ridiculous feelings for that silly boy, Harry? Determined to put that out of her thoughts, she opened the small rectangular box and discovered a tiny lapel pin in the shape of a quill. It was blue colored and rather attractive looking. Glancing down at her sundress, she decided that it would look lovely for her dinner with her parents. She pinned it on her dress and reached up a hand to adjust it.  
  
And was shocked when she felt the familiar terror of being sucked away by Portkey. Even more shocking, was the fuss when she landed. She was on her bottom, on a wooden surface in a room somewhere, facing a wall of filing cabinets. The first thing she became aware of was the popping of Filibuster Fireworks directly over her head. The second were the faces of George and Fred Weasley to either side of her.  
  
"George, it worked. We're brilliant. We're going to make a million Galleons off of these." Fred was doing a little dance, completely oblivious to the shifts in Hermione's facial muscles.  
  
"I believe you're right, brother mine." George was also thrilled, but had the grace to look a little abashed.  
  
Deep breaths, Hermione told herself, deep breaths. She was going to be calm and rational and relaxed and CALM. She was going to stay serene and not get angry or upset. Honestly, she mused, she should've known better. Calm, she repeated to herself. She was going to stay calm. She was going to act like they had invited her for tea. Yes. That was what she was going to do. She sat up and took another deep breath and another one and then decided that calm was a long way away from how she felt.  
  
"WHAT AM I DOING HERE?" She had realized she was upset and that she had every right to be, but even she was a little surprised by her shrieking. So much for calm, teatime thoughts. On the other hand, these were the Weasley twins and they had just swept her away from her comfortable bedroom, which one of them had just covered in awful pink glitter. Right then, she decided - shrieking was, in fact, in order. "HOW DARE YOU REMOVE ME FROM MY BEDROOM LIKE THAT?!?"  
  
She would've gone on, but Fred started laughing. Laughed at her distress. The very indignity of it was enough to stop her in her tracks. Well, she fumed, we'll see about this, and pulled her wand out of the ankle strap she had started using towards the end of the war. She adjusted her hand on the grip and was slightly mollified when Fred looked distinctly nervous. "Come on, George. Let's get ickle Ronniekins. I'll watch the store and you can bring him back here to say hello and explain the product to our dear 'Mione." The brothers left the room, George sparing a backwards glance at the girl on the desk and leaving the door open a bit. Right. Stiff upper lip. She was going to stay calm and, oh, god, hadn't George told her earlier that Harry might be around? She didn't want to see him. And she wasn't going to just disappear, either. Pushing the door open she met Ron, George and, yes, Harry, in the hallway leading to the office.  
  
"George. I believe I may have mentioned that my parents were expecting me. We were going out to dinner and I must get back. As much as I would enjoy this reunion," she looked at Harry and Ron, "I'm afraid it will have to wait." And, with that, she tipped her chin up and Apparated away. Ron, Harry and George looked at the spot she had been. Ron and George were a little surprised and Harry looked a bit guilty.  
  
"Right then. I'll go after her. Explain that we were just playing, calm her down a bit." Ron and Harry looked shocked and Ron started to speak.  
  
"Blimey, George, she'll get ov. . ." He never got to finish the statement. George, with a concerned look on her face, had Apparated away. Ron looked at Harry, who surely looked just as surprised. "Harry. What's he going and doing now? It's just Hermione."  
  
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**Author note**  
  
I love love love you for reading this and next chapter, stuff starts happening. Word. 


	3. The Princess or the Witch?

Disclaimer: Yo. I am so not J.K. Rowling. The characters within are not mine. Dig?  
  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed and/or added me to your favorites list. You guys make me feel totally squishy.  
  
(Long author note, skip if you'd like, sweeties.) Gah. I've run out of viable stall tactics yet again so I'm going to tell you how this chapter required blood and sweat and lots of whinging at my boyfriend. It took daaaaaaays to do and I'm sorry if it sucks. Lie to me, though, 'kay? Thanks. (Okay, I've finally finished it and I do think it's terrible and I'm not saying that so you say nice things to me, [though, if you'd like to, by all means.*gestures to review button*].)  
  
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"blue moon, you saw me standing alone, without a dream in my heart, without a love of my own"  
  
-billie holiday, "blue moon"  
  
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If Hermione could've growled, she would've done so. Not just a little sound of displeasure in the back of her throat, she wanted to roar, she was so angry. Honestly, running away from those gits like that. Merlin, they were probably discussing it right now in monosyllabic words back at Fred and George's store. She was sure they were wondering why she'd ran like that and Harry the Prat was probably looking generally. . .well, like he'd done something wrong and pretending he didn't know anything.. And the look on her face, she knew, probably would've compared to some of the ones she'd given Draco before they became friends. She'd lost her cover. Instead of thinking everything was normal, like she had intended, they were sure to know that something was different. Even they weren't so thick they wouldn't recognize a change. And George! Whisking her away from here like that! What in Circe's name was he thinking? He was lucky she hadn't hexed him into next week. Falling into her lounger with a decided lack of grace, she held her wand up and pretended to he was there, just for the sheer joy of it. She starting running through her lengthy mental list of hexes and decided she'd take it one step farther and act it out. She'd read in a Muggle psychology text that sometimes it was good to act out your aggressive emotions. She stood up and closed her eyes, stepping into dueling position. Picturing George, she began imagining the effects various curses would have on him.  
  
Then she heard a faint popping sound. She recognized the noise, but her much admired mind had suddenly stopped working. Who would dare follow her here? This was her room, her house, and she hadn't invited anyone here. Her mind flitted back to the moment last June when Harry had shown up unexpectedly, but he had made it clear that he wouldn't be popping in again anytime soon. And, when she had seen him moments ago, he was decidedly sober. Suddenly, almost as quickly as it had frozen, her mind decided to start working again and she opened her eyes. If her mind registered the red hair, it didn't tell her hand to put the wand down. Pointing her wand directly at the intruder, she threw off a Leg Locker Curse and followed it up with one that bound him at the wrists and, just in case, the ankles. Just for good measure, she added a silencing charm. She realized that maybe, perhaps, she was acting in an extreme fashion, but she'd been trained to do this, after all. Half of it was reflex. The swift kick she gave to the intruder's midsection, which sent him tumbling on to her bed may have been a bit over the top, but the rest was perfectly justified.  
  
It is often said that veterans of any war suffer some post traumatic stress syndrome. After she, Ron and Harry had defeated Voldemort, Hermione had put her prodigious researching skills to work to find out what psychological symptoms they may have started showing. Harry was refusing to take responsibility for things and acting generally irresponsible and Hermione was a bit jumpy. Given that she knew more curses than the rest of the seventh years she had graduated put together, this was a tricky bit of circumstance. And she only, thankfully, acted like this when she was feeling threatened or was generally exhausted. Today she could certainly be allowed this momentary lapse. Besides, people often forgot that Hermione was a teenage girl. Just because she possessed a prodigious intelligence and could help defeat dark lords didn't mean she didn't get a little miffed when someone barged into her room unannounced. Furthermore, it was laundry day again. With a little regard to that, she turned and kicked a pair of blue bikini underwear under the bed. Funny, that. These silly people couldn't show up when all of her naughty underthings were safely tucked in their drawers, could they? Shaking her head and keeping her wand not only out but pointed at the bed, she finally looked up at the bed and her intruder.  
  
There, lying rumpled and scared on her light blue bedspread, was George bloody Weasley. Imagine that. Hermione sighed and then started running through her options in the situation. She briefly considered just banishing him back to the store, which would be, by far, the most appealing option. He'd be gone with no discussion and he'd surely get the message that she was displeased and feeling a little anti-social. And busy. She was busy. Of course, he had known that when he followed her here. And, truthfully, she did have a dinner date with her parents. They should be home in roughly half an hour. One thing was absolutely for certain, when she got home tonight she was putting up wards. On at least her bedroom. Maybe the backyard, too, while she was thinking about it. No, she decided, she was going to ward the whole house. She could Portkey in. However, there was a far more immediate concern and it was about to roll onto her new academic journals and that was not good.  
  
"George", Hermione said slowly, making sure he was looking at her, "I'm going to remove the bindings and the silencing charm and you're going to tell me what possessed you to follow me here! Honestly. . ." Making sure he understood her, she did so with a quietly cast spell. "Okay, George, you can talk now. Why are you here?" To herself, she quietly wondered how many more times she was going to have to do this. She was getting quite tired of dealing with boys who didn't know how to owl first. And she sighed and thanked the stars that she was leaving for Puddlemere in a week. Puddlemere was heavily warded, especially the academic area she'd be living and working in. These unannounced visits were quickly going to be stopped and Hermione was glad. Lavender may have enjoyed this kind of behavior, but it wasn't HER residence these prats were invading, was it?  
  
She was startled out of her musings when George cleared his throat. "Well, you rushed out of the store like that, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."  
  
"I'm fine, George, just spiffing. But I'm a very busy girl today. I," she paused and crossed her arms here for effect, which always used to work with Harry and Ron, "have things to do today. You should be back at the store instead of," here she sniffed a bit, "bothering me."  
  
"Hermione, I'm kind of worried about you, to be honest. You seemed a bit off today when I ran into you and then you didn't even want to see Harry and Ron at 3W. I Portkeyed you there because I thought you'd want to visit, maybe nag them about their plans this fall or something like that." George was just trying to make Hermione feel a little better about all of this and was quite unnerved by the immensely displeased look on her face. She'd always been a little uptight, but towards the end of fifth year, he'd thought they'd worked out some kind of easy truce. Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't thinking of truces, but trying very hard not to hex George in the manner she had happily imagined earlier. Why wouldn't these endlessly stupid boys leave her alone, she wondered, especially since she had made it clear she wasn't interested in their company?  
  
"Let me tell you how thrilled I would be to see Ron and Harry, George. About as overjoyed as they would be. The only time I've seen Harry this summer is when he showed up at my house drunk after Susan had broken up with him. And that was just for a snog! He didn't want to talk to me or do anything like that." George had the grace to look shocked here and even opened his mouth to say something, but Hermione wouldn't let him. "Afterwards, all I got was an owl that could've been written by his press liaison about how he would get back to me at the end of the summer. I'm leaving for Puddlemere in a WEEK and I haven't heard a word."  
  
"But Ron and. . .I know you've owled Ron. And Harry would never. . ." George had snapped out of it enough to protest weakly. He wasn't sure what to do right now. Hermione was angry looking and had been stepping closer and closer to him. If she didn't stop walking, she'd be tripping over him in a minute.  
  
"Oh, yes. Ron. Ron and I talk about the weather. We talk about your store. We talk about textbooks. We don't actually talk about anything, George. We're acquaintances. They're off doing boy things and I'm. . .I'm not a boy and therefore they don't really want me anymore." She paused here a little and looked at her feet before her head snapped back up to look at George, her great cinnamon eyes blazing. "Oh, and Harry? Let me tell you, he would and did. I wasn't asking for a grand romance, but an apology would've been nice." Hermione had said the last bit in a rush and, looking down, had also realized how close she was to the boy she'd kicked onto her bed. Oh, yes, she thought, she'd better check on that. Taking out her wand, she leaned down and cast a medical scanning spell on him. Fortunately, she hadn't hurt him and she could get back to the business of being angry. She was just opening her mouth to get on with it when George beat her to it.  
  
"What d'you mean? You three are inseparable. You're the Dream Team. When we were younger, Mum would always ask Fred and I why we couldn't get along with our brothers like the three of you did." Here George cocked his head a little. "I told her it was because they were bloody gits, but she wasn't having any of it. She'll be heartbroken when she finds out that you three aren't chums anymore. Harry was probably confused and is too shy to say anything about it. We all know that. . .well, Harry's been a bit wonky this last year. He'll come around, Hermione, he's 19! Besides, being on his own at some point should make him grow up like Fred and I did." Hermione scoffed a bit at this and George looked a little sad. "Just come back to the store. I'll make Ron test some of our new products." He looked up at Hermione, a lively grin replacing the shadows that had appeared on his face, in an attempt to gauge her reaction and was horrified to see that her normally lively brown eyes had lost all of their depth and it was like looking at a flat surface. Hermione's beautiful eyes were a shade of brown overlooked by more undiscerning eyes, but they always had some fire in them, and it was gone. And now there was nothing there. Maybe, he thought, bringing up he and Fred hadn't been such a good idea.  
  
"Well." Hermione stepped away to somewhere halfway between him and the door and looked at him. "It's not my fault those two are so childish! And, furthermore, they don't even realize what's happened! Even if they do, they can't be bothered to care. Do you know something, George Weasley? I don't know if I can be bothered anymore, either. In a week, I'll be leaving for Puddlemere. I will have books and research and. . .and. . .more research! I will be so busy that I will not have time to play Agony Aunt, or worse, be the fallback for two selfish, unfeeling, immature. . .boys!" Hermione was right up in George's face again and the anger was back in her eyes. He'd seen her fight with Ron and he wasn't surprised. For a bookwork, Hermione was quite kinetic in her motions. "For six years we had been best friends, we had helped each other, we'd been so close I wasn't sure where I ended and they began and I thought it was the same for them. But no! They bonded over which shade of curls they liked the best and gave me up as a girl, as a person who wouldn't understand." Suddenly, Hermione realized what she was saying and how close to George she had gotten again. She'd always stood her ground with Ron, but for some reason, being this close to George was quite odd. And, gods, what if he went back and told Harry and Ron about this? She'd die of humiliation. He needed to leave, her brain decided, and not now but NOW. "So. I. . .I decided that it would probably be best if I left them to it." She walked over to her chaise lounge and sat down, resting her elbows on her knees and cradling her head in her hands. "And, George, I think I've said enough. You should go."  
  
As if on cue, a door slammed downstairs and a voice could be heard downstairs calling Hermione's name. "See, George? My parents are home. You should go." She looked up at him almost pleadingly, as if she could make him disappear with just that plaintive tone. It didn't occur to her to Banish him or use any other form of magic.  
  
"But, Hermione, you. . ." George had stood up and stepped forward, towards her. She dropped her hands and they rested loosely in her lap and looked down at her feet.  
  
"George, just go. Please." Looking down at her, he considered staying or Apparating her back to the Burrow. Deciding that discretion was perhaps the better part of valor (and that he couldn't compete Hermione's vast mental dictionary of hexes), he Apparated back to the store. When he got back, he felt oddly subdued amongst all the bright colors and fun toys at 3W. He just couldn't get the picture of the girl he'd just left out of his head. She'd looked so forlorn, among her lovely things and prestigious awards. Hermione Granger was an articulate, confident, amazingly lovely (he wasn't sure when that'd started applying to her, but it was true), incredibly talented and stunningly powerful Witch, but when he'd left her, she'd looked like a scared little girl. She'd looked so lost. He was definitely going to have some words with Ron and Harry. Striding confidently down the hall, he decided that maybe he'd try a little niceness first. His American-raised accountant had a weird saying about flies and honey. . . And then, maybe, when he was done when all this, he'd see if Hermione maybe, perhaps, wanted to go out for tea.  
  
Hermione, in the meantime, was very confused. Confused and upset and, strangely, deeply touched. George had come after her, when she had left his store in such a rush. He had taken time out of his actually busy day to make sure that she was well. Harry and Ron had stopped being concerned a long time ago and her parents, while they tried very hard, weren't very empathetic to the plight of a magically gifted, unlucky in love genius. She hated to do it, but part of her was still the girl from earlier this summer who was honestly wishing for. . .well, it certainly wasn't Harry she saw in her daydreams, but it would certainly be nice for someone to notice her. All these years of books and cleverness, and all she wanted was for someone to look at her the way Viktor Krum had when she was in fourth year. While learning would always be her first priority, it'd be nice for it to have some competition.  
  
For, you see, she hadn't started out with textbooks, and she remembered the storybooks of her youth. In them, the beautiful princess always had a charmed childhood, went through adversity, defeated it and lived happily ever after. The evil witch either died or spent life alone and friendless. When she got older and went to Hogwarts, she'd laughed at the stereotype. But tonight, as she dug through her closet looking for something to wear to dinner, Hermione couldn't help but think maybe she had the princess' life, but she was still the witch in more than the obvious sense of the word.  
  
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It's moving slow. . .believe me, I know. Next chapter I *swear* we get some happy stuff. I know Hermione's really sad, but. . .it'll get better, you know that. We love Hermione, we wouldn't leave her sad and stressed out and lonely, would we? She's going to Puddlemere and let's see if we can't do something about that lovelife of hers. 


	4. Confession Time

Disclaimer: This is a tale of indeterminate origin. It is not written by J.K. Rowling, owner of the Potterverse. In fact, it is entirely possible that aliens have kidnapped our beloved fanfiction writer (that'd be me, yo) and simply dropped this story in her brain. Like with Cartman and the anal probe. . .only completely and totally not. Eww.  
  
Thanks thanks thanks to Ali, my fabulous muse, for generally being encouraging. As always, so much love to my reviewers who say nice things to me and add me to your favorite stories lists and all that. And especially to those of you who reviewed *twice*, absolutely tickling me pink. PINK, I tell you! People who say they write for themselves are big fat liars because I know I write for *you*, and not just in the review grubbing sense of the word, though they are, as always, appreciated. If you weren't mentioned above, please note that I still received and read your review and tucked it into my special review folder in my email program and giggled and tutted and thought about what you said. Special thanks to Raine, who pointed out an error that I'm making. It's pretty touch and go, thoughts on that one, so I think I'm going to keep doing it this way for time's sake. Other reviewers, please let me know if you're having trouble reading this.  
  
Okay. Reviewer love out of the way, on with the story. . . Author note at the end, telling you all the things that would spoil it for you if I told you now.  
  
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"all these questions and their answers seemed to change"  
  
-idlewild, "the remote part/scottish fiction"  
  
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George Weasley was, one could say, in a state. In the week or so since he left Hermione in her room, he'd made a few semi-discreet inquiries about what had happened with her, Harry and Ron. He'd managed to piece together the incident last July straight from Harry's mouth (with the aid of a little alcohol back at his and Fred's flat) and Ron had confessed that he'd completely forgotten to owl Hermione back last time she had sent him something and had he seen her lately 'cause he and Harry hadn't? It was amazing what they'd said under the influence of some firewhiskey. The stuff was better than Veritaserum and, consequently, George had heard a lot of things from the boys that surprised him a bit. Now George was still George, but he wasn't thick. He couldn't be, co-owning a business like this and inventing all the products and whatnot. Harry had pulled a snog- and-run on Hermione and Ron was getting clumsy in their correspondence. So really the only conclusion he could come to was that Hermione was, as always, correct about everything she had told him. It was unfortunate, sometimes, that Ron had met up with. . .well, the smartest witch George knew, anyway. Probably the smartest witch anyone knew. Most girls would've been able to ignore what the boys were doing or, at least, not see through it quite so well. He let out a little snort at the thought and was rewarded with his twin brother looking up at him from across the office.  
  
"Problem, brother mine?" Fred, knowing the answer, put his quill down. "And does this have something to do with your sudden desire to spend more time question our younger sibling and his best chum?"  
  
George started tapping the end of his quill against the desk and didn't answer right away. "Well, yeah. Have you noticed Hermione hasn't been around this summer? And when we brought her here she vanished, and it wasn't a mysterious vanishing. She ran away and you hadn't even been near her." Fred raised an eyebrow at him and George continued, a little defensively. "I just wanted to see what had happened. They'd been practically inseparable before then. I was a little curious, I'm only bloody human, Fred." George's voice had risen oddly at the end there.  
  
"You sound like the our former Quidditch captain. Who, woe and despair upon us, can't make it to our little gathering," here Fred wiggled his eyebrows, "tomorrow. Says he has to do an appearance at some big company la-de-dah thing on Sunday afternoon and he's making a mint."  
  
"And that is a shame." George seemed oddly reluctant to say anything else, both on the party they were hosting at their flat this weekend and the issues with the three teenagers. He had noticed Fred looking at him a little oddly since the incident with Hermione last week and wasn't quite sure how to interpret it.  
  
"Hrm, yes, well. Oliver has promised to make it up to us. Seems the weekend after, he's having a party. Asked if we'd be able to make it. And I told him that of course we would." Fred looked over at his twin, noticing the faraway look in his eyes.  
  
"Okay." George was still tapping his quill against the desk, giving Fred the suspicion that he hadn't heard a word.  
  
"Oliver is throwing a party that will feature Hermione Granger jumping naked out of a cake." A-ha, Fred thought, that's what he was looking for. George, apparently, was paying attention now, if the way he accidentally threw his quill across the room was any indication. "George. Tell me it's not true. You and Hermione? I *knew* it. Ever since you went galloping after her."  
  
"No, no, not even. I didn't. . .galoop? Is that a new type of Portkey? I Apparated." George looked at Fred with a scowl on his face. "I'm just worried about her. Harry and Ron have been prats and she's feeling really bad about it. When I went over there to check on her, she was angry. Tell me, twin mine, have you ever seen Hermione Granger really truly angry?"  
  
Fred looked a little perplexed as he thought about it. "Well, no, I don't think I have. Not since I've known her. Our dear Hermy-own-ninny is an expert at the petty bickering and sometimes she and Ron could hold a grudge, but I've never seen her really and truly mad. There was that incident in third year, though. . ." The perplexed look was quickly replaced by a dreamy smile on both of their faces.  
  
"Yeah. Malfoy. The git. Anyway, Fred, I don't feel anything for Hermione except for concern. That is it." George looked down at his desk and pulled a blueprint off of a stack of them. "Come help me with the layout for the Hogsmeade store."  
  
Fred wasn't convinced, but decided to wait his twin brother out. Moving over to the table, he began looking over the documents in question. Twenty minutes passed while they debated various features the building had and tried to see if they really would need to make various architectural changes the designers had suggested. Looking over, Fred noticed that George had a particularly distant look on his face, even while participating in the discussion, and he had a sneaking thought that he knew where his sibling's thoughts really were. Putting down his quill, Fred stared at George until he looked up.  
  
"What? Fred, blueprints, store, re-mem-ber?" Emphasizing the last syllable, George gestured down to the surface of the desk.  
  
Fred looked at him mockingly. "I do. It would seem, however, Forge, that you are not paying attention. I ask again, one more time," here Fred clutched his chest and leaned forward, "what are you not telling your dear brother?"  
  
George looked right back at Fred. "Ron? There isn't anything I'm not telling Ron." Fred looked a bit put out at this and decided to try a different technique.  
  
"Does Hermione know? I mean, I can hardly blame you. She's developed into quite a bird. We should invite her to our soiree." Fred looked slyly at George.  
  
George looked back at Fred. "Don't call her that."  
  
"Ah-ha! So you do like her." Fred looked triumphant and George, at the most, looked annoyed.  
  
"No, it's just that Mum would kill you if she heard you say that about Hermione."  
  
"But it's true, isn't it? Hermione Granger, all grown up. You know, she got the Order of Merlin, First Class." Fred leaned back in his chair.  
  
"Have you gone daft? Of course I know, I was at the ceremony, along with the rest of our entire family, remember? I've already told you, I'm only concerned. So bugger off, Fred. We have work to do."  
  
"No. Not until you admit it. Out loud, to me and yourself and Grati." The bird in question fluffed up a little at hearing his name and George simply looked even more irritated than he had before.  
  
"This is the only way we're going to get something done, then? Fine. I admit that I am a little bit keen on Hermione."  
  
"'A bit keen'?"  
  
"Okay. I am interested in getting to know Hermione better because she's intelligent and attractive and nice." George looked pained at this point, which was a startling counterpoint to the glee on Fred's face.  
  
"Oi! Wait until I tell Angelina!" Fred was actually doing a little dance at this point. "Forge and Hermione, sitting in a tree, s-n-o-g. . ." Fred didn't have time to finish his little ditty because George had jumped out of his chair and started to make his way over to where his twin was dancing a jig. Where had Fred learned to dance a jig, anyway?  
  
"No, no, no, you git, don't tell anyone. I don't want her to find out." George looked a little frantic at the thought. "She'd probably never speak to me again."  
  
"Oh, no, Georgie, I spy with my Inner Eye," George snorted at that, Fred had almost failed Divination, even with the number of deaths they could dream up between the two of them, "that you're not intending to do anything about this. We can't have you getting cold feet and not acting like you did with Katie Bell. You must be a man of action!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah." George looked up at Fred, who had jumped up onto the desk at that last bit. "I will, at some point, but I think she might need a little time right now. . . And shut it about Katie. That was sixth year!"  
  
"Yes. . .but you are going to do something." Fred stated in a matter-of- fact tone. "Sooner rather than later, I think."  
  
"Oh?" George looked a little put-out at his brother's easy assumptions. Come to think of it, Fred did have that smug look he got on his face when he was plotting something particularly terrible. George was nervous. He didn't like being conspired against, as opposed to doing the conspiring.  
  
"Yes, George," Fred went on, ignoring the look on his brother's face, "this time she won't slip away." And with that, he made a dramatic swooning gesture, falling on the desk. George laughed absently, shoving Fred off the desk and onto the floor.  
  
"Right. Well, Fred Trelawney, the Hogsmeade store won't plan itself. Enough about girls and let's get on with it." And, once again, two redheads settled in over the blueprints. Once again, both had their minds elsewhere, but surprisingly in the same place.  
  
The girl in question was currently occupied with packing, combining that with trying to keep her mother out of her hair. Year after year, Hermione had packed for Hogwarts and her mother usually stepped out of the way and let her get on with it. This year, though, Elizabeth Granger was running around like a demented woman, brandishing hot plates and offering to make curtains like she was possessed. She almost would have had to have been under the spell of some demon, because it was well known throughout the Granger household that Mrs. Granger was a little less than domestic. In fact, twice a week a maid came and tidied their large Victorian abode since Mrs. Granger didn't have time and Hermione was always busy studying. Right now she was waving a set of black Hogwarts robes in Hermione's general direction.  
  
"Hermione, don't you need these?"  
  
"Mother, those are Hogwarts robes. And while they're very lovely robes, they still have the Hogwarts crest on them." Hermione unconsciously fingered the insignia she had worn for seven years. "I'm not ever sure why I still have them. Maybe I should send them to Ginny."  
  
"Oh, darling, do you need new clothes? We can go get some if you do. Do you need anything, anything at all?" Elizabeth Granger's voice held more than a tinge of desperation in it. Hermione supposed it was inevitable, now that she was out of school and leaving for a real job. She'd even have her own flat, provided by the company, and she wouldn't be under the careful (but not always adequate enough) eyes of her professors. The only reason they'd held off on starting the apprenticeship was that she had requested they do so. They'd wanted her there in June, but her requests were usually taken into consideration. She'd told them that she wanted time to prepare and do some research so that she could better perform the duties of her new position. They had kindly agreed to give her the time, which had now dwindled to a day.  
  
"I'm fine. The company is providing a furnished and prepared flat for me. They said all I'd need were my books and clothes and any other personal things. What I don't have, I can transfigure or buy. And since I can wear my regular clothes most of the time, I don't need clothes." Hermione looked at her mother, who was frantically trying to shove just a few more books into a box. "Mother, it's okay."  
  
Taking the priceless volume of potions lore she had gotten from Snape as a surprising parting gift (With the inscription "To the most irritating know- it-all I have been gifted with teaching. Regards, S.S." and left on her bed the last day of the year, when she wouldn't possibly have a chance to thank him other than in a note. Which she had, starting sort of a friendly professional correspondence.) from her mother's tense fingers and setting it on the bed, she wished for about the fiftieth time that her mother were in the office like she was supposed to be. Instead, her well-meaning mum had decided to take the day off to help her only daughter get ready to move. Which was giving Hermione a lovely warm feeling, knowing that her mother cared that much about her. On the other hand, Elizabeth Granger's nervousness was more of a hindering influence than anything. Hermione had debated packing through magic and had discarded the idea, but now it seemed to be a good thought. After all, she was a witch and what good were magical powers if you couldn't use them to make manual labor a little easier? With a wave of her wand and a murmured spell, all of her books were shrinking and packing themselves away neatly. Her clothes were doing much the same and she was sitting back watching the proceedings. She turned to her mother, who had watched her do these things for years, and found that she was crying.  
  
Putting her arms around her mum, she tried desperately to comfort her. "Mother, oh, Mum, don't cry. It's okay. I'll have a phone so you can call me and I can Apparate home anytime and, oh, Mum, stop crying. . ."  
  
"I'm sorry, darling, it's just that you're all grown up and you. . .you don't need me anymore."  
  
"But I'll always need you, Mum. You're not going to become obsolete just because my books aren't kept here anymore. This will always be my room. I just won't be here most of the time. This will always be the place I remember growing up. Remember when I changed the color of the walls by accident in second grade?" After making sure that she had, indeed, coaxed a little laughter out of her at the memory of an untrained witch's powers, Hermione gave her mother one more squeeze and stood up and brushed her palms off, looking around as the boxes holding her possessions magically packed themselves off.  
  
Hermione's mother had also stood up and wiped her eyes. "Let's go out tonight, pumpkin. You, your father and I, we'll have a lovely time. And then tomorrow you can go to that Puddlemere place." Hermione laughed.  
  
"But Mother, we already had a going-away party for me."  
  
"Then we'll have another one."  
  
Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother and they stood there for a long time like that.  
  
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Gah, it just wouldn't come out. Good lord. Anyway, I know, I know, this is crawling along. Something over ten thousand words and no nookie. Not even the hint of nookie. It's just taking a while. Am I too wordy? Anyway, we didn't leave Hermione lonely, though, did we? No, we got a confession out of the whole thing and now Fred knows. *FRED* knows. Heh. And Oliver Wood's at Puddlemere? Eh, eh? *nudges you* It's gonna get gooood. When next we see *them*, George and Hermione will be in Puddlemere. 


	5. No Lipstick Here

Disclaimer: *sings poorly* Oh, J.K., oh, oh, J.K! *clap* You own Harry, Harry Potter. *clap* And I do not, so this is not for profit. *clap* *does funky little dance, knocks over glass, sits down quickly*  
  
If there is a higher being anywhere, they will make this chapter get done in a less excruciating fashion than the last one. In the meantime, as always thanks to Ali for. . .well, being Ali. And for letting me "borrow" her. Thanks to Sneezy Mouse, who is currently writing a fabulous tale entitled In the Rising Consciousness of a Prankster that you should all go read immediately, for letting me borrow her for a pinch, too. Thanks to everyone who reviewed *again*. Seriously. I do a little dance every time you hit that button. No need to, but boy does it make me gleeful. I would thank you all personally, but it'd take forever. Know, though, that I really really love you for it. My boyfriend even recognizes the "review squeal" now. And, last and, yeah, probably least, thanks to Colin Firth for being. . .well, you know. *sighs* *blushes*  
  
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"will I shake this off, pretend it's all okay, that there's someone out there who feels just like me"  
  
-box car racer, "there is"  
  
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The next day dawned warm and bright, not that Hermione noticed. She'd been awake all night, sitting on the roof again, watching the stars move above her. She'd felt a little thrill when the sky to her left started shifting into a softer sort of blue. This was, honestly, one of her favorite things to do and being an early riser (most of the time, anyway, she did appreciate the occasional lay-in as much as the next girl) made it easy. Watching the day begin always held a sort of still magic that she appreciated, both in an emotional and scholastic way. After all, the sunrise was a time when certain spells had to be performed. She had been out all night, thinking about everything. She'd thought about her future, which seemed to be starting today, and remembered her mother's tears. She'd thought about her past, about her Hogwarts years and Harry and Ron. And more importantly, as the sky lightened around her, she realized that she'd survived the summer. She was ready to face all these new things with her customary enthusiasm. She knew the city she was traveling to, she knew the potions the company worked with and she was ready with some ideas she thought they might like to try out. She'd even been 'round to see her flat once. Her bags were packed and she was ready for what was going to happen next. One more breakfast with her parents and she'd be moving out of her childhood home.  
  
She was just beginning to plan how she was going to unpack once she got to Puddlemere when she heard a window open. That would be her father, who always knew when she was out here. About a month ago, he'd come up to see her and they'd talked about the Harry incident and her mother and her fears for the fall. She'd always gotten along with her father better than her mother and often had very cozy chats with him. They'd had more than one conversation up here on the roof, both before and after momentous occasions (after the battle with Voldemort, she'd cried for an hour before she would tell him anything) and on random days. They always made her feel a little better. She turned her head in time to see him clambering out of the eaved window to join her.  
  
"Punkin? What are you doing out here? You haven't been out all night, have you?"  
  
Hermione smiled at her father and briefly considered lying. "Well. . .yes. Yes, I have been. I can't sleep."  
  
"Ah." Silence reigned for a moment and then Edward Granger looked directly at his daughter. "Nervous?"  
  
She paused for a moment, just holding the eye contact. "A little."  
  
"Sweetheart, it's okay to be afraid." Here her father smiled at her a bit and then continued on. "You're moving out. You're really leaving."  
  
Hermione scooted over to where her father was sitting and leaned her head on his shoulder. He put an arm around her shoulder and they sat there for a moment, the sun rising higher and higher above the horizon. He was thinking about the day she was born and she was thinking about today, when she would leave the house she had lived in since that day eighteen years ago, when her parents had brought home their pink-cheeked daughter. This had been her home. Regardless of how much she had grown to love Hogwarts, she felt so comfortable inside her beautiful pale room.  
  
"I know, Daddy. Mother's really upset about it, too. She'll be okay, but you might want to keep any eye on her. I'll be okay. I know the town and the complex I'll be working at and I'll be fine. But Mum's worried. I read about it. It's Empty Nest Syndrome."  
  
He smiled at her statement. "I know, I know. I know you're well prepared for this move and I know that your mother's upset. Just like you know I'll keep an eye on her. Now you were planning on leaving early, right? Your mum's planned a big breakfast, so we'd better go in."  
  
"You're right," Hermione mused absently, "Mother did have that big breakfast planned." She suddenly turned and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, for coming out here and talking to me. I'll miss you. I mean, I'll be able to Apparate here anytime, but. . .it seems like it won't be the same."  
  
"It won't, darling. But we'll manage. I'm so proud of you. So is your mother. Always remember that."  
  
Hermione looked at her father, locking his warm look away in her memory for the next time she was worried. "I know. I love you, Daddy."  
  
"I love you, too. Now go on. Your mother's making waffles just the way you like them. I'll be in a few minutes."  
  
Hermione popped away in the trademark sound of Disapparation, after she took one last look at the now sun-drenched backyard. Her father sat outside for a few minutes, remembering all the conversations they'd had out here. And, frankly, he'd never gotten used to her popping in and out of places or any of the other things she did with that wand of hers. She didn't use it that much at home but she still managed to startle them with it sometimes, he smiled wryly. His little girl, he knew, was a heroine in her world, the world the Grangers had never quite managed to adapt to. It wasn't that they weren't open, it was just that they weren't magical, and, frankly, it wasn't their place. His little girl, however, fit there perfectly. Hell, if he had his story right, she'd saved that world and theirs. For just a moment, Edward Granger wondered what it would be like if she hadn't been astoundingly bright, if she hadn't been a Witch. And, with a sigh, he realized that she just wouldn't be his Hermione.  
  
Hermione of Greek legend, the one they'd named her after, had been left behind. Hermione's father had minored in Greek mythology in school, hoping to balance out the rigid nature of any medical study. Both her mother and father were great loves of Shakespeare's plays, so when they had a girl, they had named her Hermione. It was still ironic, though, that their little Hermione had the bearing of Shakespeare's Hermione, Queen of Sicilia. He had always hoped, through the war she had told them bits and pieces about and the personal disaster that he had gathered was her seventh year, that she avoided the inevitable Shakespearian tragedy. Thusfar he'd been right. As he climbed in through his open bedroom window, he could only hope their luck continued to hold.  
  
Hermione's thoughts were along the same vein throughout breakfast. She'd been incredibly successful in the endeavors she'd pursued. She had to laugh a little at that. She'd worked hard and good things had happened. All the nights she spent in the library while others mocked her, she thought, had actually gotten her somewhere. Sure, Harry was playing Quidditch, but she'd read of some of his exploits. The Harry she had known wouldn't have been happy leading the life he appeared to be mired in. And Ron. . .no, she couldn't be mad at Ron. She'd always known, deep down somewhere, that he was what he is today. He couldn't be blamed for her naïve belief that he would turn out to be something else. She'd managed to keep up a conversation with her parents throughout her musings and blinked in surprise when her father stood up and put his hands on her mother's shoulders and announced that Hermione should probably get dressed to go. Her mother let a single tear slide down her cheek before nodding in agreement.  
  
Hermione looked solemnly at both of her parents before smiling widely at them and then went up to her room to put out the change of clothes she had left out for today. Quickly throwing on the jeans and scarlet tank top (with a small golden lion on the bottom left of the front) she had laid out, she picked up the bag that held all of her reduced boxes and double checked that she had the paper with the default password for her flat tucked into her pocket. Crookshanks was summarily captured on the landing and tucked into his traveling basket and her parents were both at the bottom of the stairs. Hermione let go of the seriousness of the moment and almost laughed at the Hallmark nature of the whole thing. Honestly. Slap a soundtrack over this, something instrumental and syrupy and there it was - Hermione Goes To Puddlemere.  
  
And much to her surprise, a few words later, a million hugs and promises that she'd have a phone installed at her flat *this weekend* and that she would Apparate home for dinner a few times a month and a gentle hug from her father and a tearful more sort of. . .well, clutching from her mother and whoosh, she was gone. Popping out of The Grangers' and into a corner of Puddlemere Square. Fortunately, Hermione had done her research well and quickly found the three-flat building she would be staying in. The door was situated on the left of the building and led to the staircase that had the doors to the flats on the right. She was pleased to see that one of the doorbells read "H. Granger" in a feminine hand. She was just wondering who was behind that when the door opened and two people came out. One, she assumed, was one of the other girls. . .no, women, she thought, who would be living with her. Caitlin and Alison were their names but she wasn't sure which one this was. She was kind of tall, taller than Hermione, with brown hair cut in a layered style that Hermione would've never been able to carry off with her thick hair and rather striking grey eyes. The woman was also dressed in blue jeans and a tank top, which was unremarkable since Hermione was wearing the same thing and it was a warm day. Hermione was quite grateful that Puddlemere was open enough to accept Muggle clothing for casual wear. Hermione turned her eyes to the woman's companion and stopped short, when she realized who it was. The wizarding world, she decided, was far too small.  
  
For the man with her neighbor was none other than Oliver Wood, Quidditch hero and former Gryffindor charmer. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt with Puddlemere United's gold logo across the chest and he looked almost exactly like he had in his seventh year, when she had seen him regularly for the last time. Hermione was so shocked she almost dropped Crookshanks. Fortunately, she didn't have much time to be stunned, as the girl started talking to her.  
  
"Hi! I'm Caitlin, I live on the first floor, this is my boyfriend, Oliver, you must be Hermione, it's so nice to finally meet you!" The woman was friendly and had an American accent, Hermione observed. That was a surprise. American witches and wizards often thought that some of the traditions of England's magic community were archaic. Which, Hermione would admit, was true sometimes. Consequently, not many of them moved to the British Isles willingly. She must be here studying or getting paid well, Hermione mused.  
  
She smiled a shy sort of smile at Caitlin and Oliver before greeting them. "It's nice to meet you, Caitlin. Oliver, it's been a few years."  
  
"You two know each other?" The girl looked inquisitively between her boyfriend and Hermione.  
  
"Oi, Caitlin, I've told you about Hermione before. When I was telling you about playing Quidditch with Harry. Her, Harry and Ron were great, great friends. Inseparable." He looked at Hermione with that guileless expression he'd always had for a moment, observing her uncomfortable look. "Though that may have changed."  
  
"Erm, well, we're all busy. . ." Hermione trailed off, not wanting to say anything too revealing. Fortunately for her, Caitlin had a little more tact than her boyfriend and jumped in to rescue her.  
  
"Well, maybe we'll see them around. And maybe we won't, Hermione's probably going to be very busy in the next couple weeks. It was nice to meet you, by the way, but we were just on our way out. Oliver has practice this afternoon, but I'll be back. Alison should be home from work when I get here, and I'll introduce you two, okay?" She trailed off as Oliver tugged her arm.  
  
"She might want a little time to relax, darling." He looked at Hermione before continuing.  
  
Hermione thought for a moment. "I'd love to meet her, Caitlin. It'll only take me a few minutes to unpack and it'd be nice to get to know my neighbors, of course. I have some dreadful welcoming banquet to go to tomorrow." She pulled a face at Caitlin as she said the last bit. Caitlin returned a smile twice as bright. Both parties were startled by a plaintive mew from Crookshanks.  
  
"Oh. Looks like someone's impatient. We'll let you go, then. It's wonderful that we'll be able to have a little talk. So often, neighbors don't even know each other's names! Anyway, Ali and I are going to a party tonight, but we'll be in for a few minutes before that. Go settle in, Hermione. I'll Floo you later."  
  
Oliver paused, though, and looked at Hermione. "Welcoming banquet? For Puddlemere Potions?"  
  
She responded with a look of surprise. "Well, yes. I'm apprenticing there. Seems they want to "welcome me properly", which means lots of unnecessary fuss." Her surprise had slid into annoyance at the last part.  
  
"I've been hired to make an appearance there, for some reason. So I'll see you there, Hermione." Oliver shared her annoyed look for a moment before brightening. "But Caitlin and I have to get to lunch, so I'll see you 'round, then." And with a wave and a giggle, the two were gone and Hermione was on her way up to her flat.  
  
She spent the rest of the morning organizing her flat and exploring. It was a lovely space, larger than it looked from the outside and airy. She suspected there were several charms placed within the walls of the flat to make it similar to the tent she had used so many years ago at the Quidditch World Cup. She frowned a little at the reference and looked at the walls. They were white, flat white, and quite plain. She quickly charmed the living room to be a crème color and began unpacking and transfiguring furniture. Following suit for the rest of the house, she kept to a light theme. Hermione had always harbored a not-so-secret love of quiet beauty and her flat carried that through every room, from the soft brown furniture in the living room to the soft orange in the bedroom. She'd chosen that color because it reminded her of the sunrise, to make her feel a little more at home. The kitchen was a happy yellow like her mother's at home and her study was a burgundy color and lined with bookshelves. There was a door from her study that led directly to her lab at Puddlemere, but it was spelled to open only to her, which she appreciated. No pesky commute, she smirked to herself as she left the room.  
  
After every room met Hermione's tastes, she realized that one was missing something - the kitchen was empty. Looking around, she debated for a moment. She could spell her food or cook it. It was actually quite a debate. She leaned up against the counter that separated the food preparation area from the dining nook and wondered about it for about ten minutes. The other ten minutes she spent leaning against her new counter were drained away in thoughts of the last week. Here she was, moved out of her parents' house. She'd been of majority in the wizarding world for a year or so, but this was different sort of independence. And then there had been George Weasley's interest in her. What had brought that about, she mused, and was it good news? He could be an irresponsible prat sometimes, but he was attractive. And he had been the only one to come after her when she stormed out of 3W.  
  
She was, surprisingly, startled out of her reverie about George by an owl swooping in through a window she had opened earlier. She was even more startled when she realized it was Gratiano, the owl who belonged to the object of her musings just now. Irony, she thought, as she took the scroll attached to his ankle.  
  
"Pretty owl, what brings you here today?" She ruffled his feathers like she had last time and he fluffed up happily in response. Giving him a small bowl of water and a few treats, she turned her attention to the missive itself.  
  
Hermy-own-ninny!  
  
I wish to use this opportunity to deeply apologize for my behavior of the past week. I assure you that my brother, George Weasley, was not responsible for that Portkey business at all. So don't be hacked off at him, okay?  
  
And, oi, Hermy, wanna come to our party tonight?  
  
Fred  
  
Oh, dear. Fred was inviting her to a party. Harry and Ron would probably be there. So would George, though. . .which might not be so bad, she reasoned. He was nice and she might as well come out of this with one friendship intact. On the other hand, she did have that banquet tomorrow. She didn't have to stay long, but she did have to make an appearance, and it was her prospective employer. She was still debating it when Gratiano gave her a soft hoot, indicating that he needed to get back.  
  
"Wait a second, this is a big decision. I'm still not sure what I should do." The owl cocked his head at her. "Honestly. Talking to an owl."  
  
Fred,  
  
Apology accepted, but please realize that Portkeying someone out of their house in such a manner is likely to get you seriously hexed next time you try it. As for George's involvement. . .well, I don't believe you, but okay.  
  
Please accept my apology in return that I will not be able to attend your gathering this evening. I have the most dreadful banquet to attend tomorrow for my new employer and must be in excellent condition to do so. In addition, I moved two hours ago. Do allow me some time to relax before you get up to your tricks.  
  
Hermione Granger  
  
And tying her reply to the friendly little owl's leg, she pursed her lips and thought about her indecision. She had actually thought of attending the silly party, which she knew would be filled with alcohol and drinks and people she didn't really fancy spending time with. There was one she might fancy spending some time with, but that was another story. She was being foolish, honestly, she was busy. Nodding her head resolutely, she turned to her earlier decision that she had neglected to make. She retrieved her bag and set out to the shops, where she spent a happy hour engrossed in the wonder that was a wizard grocery store. Most disconcerting was the fact that the produce engaged in tricks of skill to convince you that it was worthy of buying. Hermione watched for a moment before wondering if perhaps they should be convincing the customers that they were too talented to be made into soup. Shaking her head, she bought canned vegetables that day.  
  
Finishing her shopping, she decided that she should go straight home to unload her groceries. She could've charmed them to remain fresh, but it was fun, she had deduced, going through these everyday activities. Besides, she had the horrifying feeling that her life was going to become spectacularly busy once she started working on Monday. But today was Saturday and it was lovely and warm and life was great.  
  
Until she turned the corner leading back to her block and saw a lanky red- haired form unfolding on her bit of front porch. Fred or George, she couldn't tell from this distance, but either one was a bit more than she wanted to deal with right now. She'd just moved in after all, and it seemed like she'd dealt more with the Troublesome Twins in the last week than she had the last two years. It was bizarre, but she found she wasn't really angry about it, for some reason. She really didn't have time to be angry about it. Four years ago she would've thrown a fit and hexed them until they were unrecognizable. Of course, whichever one it was could've been there to see Oliver, who she had gathered spent a lot of time in her neighbor's abode. Either way, she was at her apartment and close enough to see the facial features of the twin on her steps. And he was missing the telltale freckles. Fred, then. This would definitely be trickier than dealing with George. While George had settled down at least a little bit and could be expected to behave roughly half the time, Fred was still trouble in trainers.  
  
"Hermy-own-ninny!" Fred reached out and took her bags. "Let me take those so you can get into your flat. It's bloody awful, walking up the stairs with grocery bags. 'Course, you didn't have carry them at all, you could've charmed them, but okay."  
  
"Erm." She couldn't quite decide what to say, so she decided to retreat into pleasantries. "Thanks, Fred. That's nice of you. To what do I owe the pleasure?"  
  
Fred looked perplexed. "Pleasure? But George isn't here. . ."  
  
"Of *your company*, Fred Weasley." Hermione rolled her eyes as they walked up to her flat. Reaching the door, she whispered the password and they walked inside.  
  
Fred glanced around on the way to the kitchen. "Nice place you have here, Hermy. Fairly big for one person. Got any roomies, then?"  
  
Hermione turned and faced Fred. "Yes, well. . .I like it. And it's just me, but I doubt you came to discuss my accommodations, Fred, so let's get to it. What can I do for you?"  
  
"Oh, Hermione, I'm wounded. Can't an old friend stop in for a little chin- wag?" He paused, gauging her reaction. "No, then. Well, onto it, I suppose. I must say that I was quite disappointed to receive the note you sent declining our lovely invitation for this evening." Fred set the bags on the counter and turned to face her. "But I wasn't the one the most disappointed."  
  
"Well, Fred," she mimicked his exaggeratedly polite tone exactly, "I do have an extremely good reason for not attending." Fred made a face at this last part and decided to switch gears.  
  
"Hermy, you have to come. There's going to be fireworks and drinks and lots of people you know. George is going to be there." He said the last bit in a sing-song kind of voice, as if he were teasing her.  
  
"And?" Hermione snapped at him, finally losing her patience. "I can't come, Fred, I have responsibilities tomorrow. Besides, I agreed to meet with the other two people who have flats here."  
  
"They'll both be at the party, Hermy! Caitlin will be there and Ali and Eric are coming, too. Just because Oliver's being a wet robe, that doesn't mean they're going to miss out an all the fun. So why do you want to?" He took on a wheedling tone as he continued. "Besides, you don't have to stay all night and dear George has been moping around so. You don't want him to continue moping around, do you?"  
  
Hermione stood up from where she had stooped to reach a lower cabinet and looked at Fred appraisingly. "Actually, I wonder what George would say if he knew you were here, Fred. Does he know you're begging me to come check on him because of some lies you're telling? Honestly! George and I are just friends and I can't make it to your bloody party for the same reason that Oliver can't, so why don't you get out of my kitchen and let me put away my tomatoes? Or are you going to United's practice fields after this, as well?"  
  
Hermione was incensed that she'd let him get the better of her and had said that word. She was talking like Ron now. These Weasleys, she surmised, were really nothing but trouble lately. Spilling dye on her, barging in on her *repeatedly*, distracting her. . . Distracting her, she mused. Yes. Pondering George Weasley's strange behavior had become a distraction. His brother, right now, wasn't helping her focus much, either. Just how, she wondered, did she manage to get into this awful situation with the Weasley twins showing up on her doorstep seemingly constantly?  
  
"Hermione, I'm not leaving until you say you'll come for. . .an hour. Just a pop, then, ducky, and you can go home. But until you agree and allow me to send an escort, I'm going to be right here." And with that, he boosted himself up and sat down on her counter.  
  
Hermione looked at him for a minute, recognizing that resolute set to his chin that the Weasleys had developed. She had a few options here. One, she could call his bluff and have him sitting on her counter all day. But was he. . .yes, he was digging in his pockets. Right, then, she thought, exhaling deeply, this could become a Situation. The last thing she needed was for her kitchen to explode. Her neighbors would be at this silly gathering, so she decided that was as good a place as any for them to have their little chat. Traitors. Had that nice Caitlin girl been in on this the whole time? She'd have to ask. In the meantime, Fred was looking slyly at her and withdrawing a hand from his robes.  
  
"Fred! Take your hands out of your pockets and leave whatever it is you were about to unleash in there. I will come to your party for an hour and then I will leave. I am busy and have a lot to do today. Some of us just can't throw wild parties and stay up all night." She lifted her nose into the air and waited for him to challenge her.  
  
"And what a sad life that must be. Knew you'd come 'round, Hermy. I'm Flooing Caitlin, so she'll come in and pick you up." Sliding almost gracefully off the counter, Fred grabbed Hermione's hand and bowed over it in a mockery of ancient knights. "Tonight, then, your prince shall be waiting."  
  
With that and before she could object, he left, whistling cheerfully and leaving a confused Hermione standing in his wake. Well, she thought to herself, she'd lost this battle, but she'd win the war. Resolutely continuing to organize her kitchen, she decided that tonight she'd definitely not cooperate like they were hoping. She'd be there, most definitely, only because she had said she would. But she would only be there for an hour and she was, she decided, certainly not wearing lipstick.  
  
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Gawd. This story is going sloooooow, I know. But there's a fun, fun party scene coming up so that's good, right? Besides, admit it, you love prolonging the agony. You like it, don'cha, this waiting? Not that I'm torturing you on purpose, but isn't it satisfying to see these beautifully long updates (today's clocks in at 4,827 and 10 pages) and whatnot? But promise, promise you'll tell me if I'm getting too wordy. I know I've said it before, but I mean it. *sniffles* Just don't lose interest, okay? 


	6. The Game Is Afoot

Disclaimer: Oh, if I owned the marvelous Harry, I know my life would be far more merry, I'd have lots and lots more money, life would be milk and honey, alas, the copyright - I do not carry!  
  
And here we are again, dear readers, you and I. I know, I know, this chapter, though, has some action. It's a party, how could it not? Anyway. Thanks, as always, to Alison for her marvelous Alisonness both in this chapter and on my screen. Thanks to Caitlin, for letting me borrow her, not that she's not getting anything out of the deal (a reminder - she's Sneezy Mouse here in the twin/Hermione section, so go read). And, more importantly, thank *you*, dear readers, for prodding me along and leaving those awesome reviews and generally being incredibly cool. Honestly, I adore hearing what you think, good or bad. I'm writing this for you guys. Thanks, last of all, to the Sanrio Corporation, who makes the nifty Hello Kitty phone I have.  
  
Thanks, more importantly, for being so patient. I love you, each and every one. Yay story!  
  
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"this is no declaration, I just thought I'd let you know"  
  
-belle and sebastian, "get me away from here I'm dying"  
  
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Fred Weasley was feeling good. He had Apparated away from Puddlemere Square (who would've guessed that little ol' Hermione would be living in the restricted neighborhoods?) and back to Diagon Alley, where he had left George tending the store. He was even whistling as he walked into the store. Greeting Ron, he walked. . .no, Fred was swaggering today. He swaggered back to the office and opened the door, finding his prey within. Walking over to George's desk, he perched on the corner of the desk and brought his whistling up to a high crescendo that was sure to stop his twin from whatever he was doing. Sure enough, George dropped the toy he had been fiddling with. When the smoke cleared and they both stopped chortling, Fred finally said something.  
  
"Cor, George, what was that?"  
  
George looked at his brother as he wiped the red streaks off of his face. "New release from Zonko's. I bought it off of one of the kiddies who were coming in to pick up their stuff for the upcoming jail sentence. I also may have let it slip that Professor Snape loves a good joke to break the ice." The last part was said in a mockery of an earnest, helpful tone.  
  
Fred looked briefly admiring. "First years?" At George's nod, he continued. "Good to know. It warms my heart to know that the greasy git won't be forgetting us anytime soon. Bet the kid comes back over Christmas and buys "presents" for his parents."  
  
"Nice to know that we're staying in the hearts and minds of Hogwarts' teachers." George smirked over at Fred, who was reflecting the exact same facial expression.  
  
"Speaking of hearts and minds, I heard that Hermione might be stopping for a sip or two tonight." Fred's smirk seemed to be the only one carrying on as George got a puzzled look on his face.  
  
"Hermione? Hermione Granger? Is coming to our party?" George sat back for a moment, thinking of the last party that they'd had. The Ministry had the most difficult time cleaning up after the washing machine they had enchanted to act as a bubble machine. . . "Blimey. How'd that happen?"  
  
Fred looked smug and thought that a little white lie never hurt anyone. "I owled her today about it."  
  
"You owled her about it? And she agreed to come?" George looked disbelieving at the idea.  
  
"She did. With a few friends." Fred, if possible, grew even smugger as he watched the expressions flitting across his brother's face, before George settled into slight nervousness. Fancy that, Fred mused. His sibling seemed to have a little bit of something for the bookish lass that they had known for nine years now. Funny, neither one of them knew her very well, but she'd been around that long. However, if things went well, one of them would be getting to know her very well. Fred smiled at the thought of his girl-shy twin and the mysterious Hermione getting together. After all, he'd heard some interesting things about what the Head Girl had gotten up to in that office she'd shared with Malfoy the Git. No one was sure if they were rumors or not, but they were certainly interesting things to consider. Of course, Fred had his own interesting things to consider right now. Like his brother, who was looking decidedly tetchy.  
  
"Friends? Who is Hermione friends with that we know?"  
  
"She lives in Caitlin and Alison's building. The middle flat, the one that was empty for three bloody months. Wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't been holding it for her, our brilliant Miss Granger." Fred sauntered over to his desk before continuing. "Even though Olly Olly can't make it, the divine Caitlin is coming, as well as Alison and Eric."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Oh, indeed, twin mine, is that all you've got?" Fred looked at a clock and then at George's red face. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"  
  
"Well. . . ye. . .no, of course not. Why would I need to do that?" George was clearly on the defensive here.  
  
"Just a thought. You wouldn't want to look to mussed when the love of your life shows, would you?" And with that, Fred slid off of his brother's desk and strolled over to his own, deftly avoiding the casual hex that was sent his way. Observing carefully, he saw his brother consider the prospect.  
  
"There's lots of stuff to be done here, Gred." George tapped the diagram he had been drawing with his quill. "I can't really pop out like that."  
  
Fred nodded at that and looked down to his own papers. Surprisingly, he and his brother were very serious about the business. That didn't mean he couldn't fabricate some reason to send his reluctantly pursuing brother home a little early to "get the flat ready". He smirked a bit, imagining that much the same scene was playing out in Puddlemere.  
  
No one ever realized it, but Fred Weasley was hardly ever wrong, in his own shrewd manner. And so Hermione sat, surrounded by the willowy girl from earlier and another girl that had been introduced as Alison. She had a more generous figure, with blonde hair and honey colored eyes that held the same twinkle as Caitlin's. Surprisingly, she was also American. While Hermione admitted that it was a good idea to put the two foreigners in the same building to adjust, she wasn't sure why she had the flat in between them. And, unfortunately, they were certainly presenting a united front right now. Alison was just as adamant as Caitlin that Hermione simply wasn't dressed for the occasion. Looking down at her jeans and tank top, she disagreed. It was just a casual sort of party, not an event. Sure, the Boy Who Lived and assorted hangers-on would be there, but she'd spent six years ducking the sense of happening that surrounded him and the last refusing to give advice on how to gain entrance to that silly circle of acquaintances that he always had around him.  
  
"Now, Hermione, you know that lots of people are going to be here. One person in particular. . .one red-headed person in particular." Hermione's head snapped up and she sent her best McGonagall glare at Caitlin, who was perched on one end of her couch, barely concealing her glee.  
  
"You were in on this," Hermione fumed at the girl, "you were in on this from the start, weren't you? Let's set poor old Hermione up with George Weasley. Hermione's too busy, Hermione's *trying to do her job*, Hermione should, instead of making a good impression tomorrow, get tipsy and snog George Weasley instead. You and Fred." Hermione stood up and began walking to the door of her flat, intending to wave the two of them out when Alison reached out and held her arm for a moment.  
  
"Fred mentioned that you'd known his family for a while. He also mentioned that you were best friends with Harry Potter. He didn't give an specifics, but he did say that George has been out of sorts since some incident last week and that it'd be nice of you to make an appearance to get things sorted out."  
  
Hermione, who had angrily crossed to a chair and sat down during Alison's statement, actually crossed her arms and scowled, something she hadn't done for a few years, at least. "I said I'd go and I will. I just don't think that it really requires me to tart myself up for a bunch of people who I either don't know at all or have known for years and years. They don't care or they know me - there's no point."  
  
Alison and Caitlin exchanged almost amused looks over the head of the sullen girl in between them. They'd heard that she was a brilliant little thing, but looking at her now, it was hard to believe. She looked like a four year old who had been told that she couldn't play with Mummy's tea set. Suddenly, as Hermione shifted uncomfortably, realizing that she must look a bit more petulant and a lot less adult than she would've liked, her face suddenly smoothed. This was an opportunity to make new friends. Besides, she'd never really had female friends. Lavender and Parvati had shared her dorm room with her, but little else. She had moved to a new city and started a new life, why not make some new friends? If they wanted to let her borrow a skirt or two, why should she refuse? Besides, she hadn't dressed up properly for years, with the exception of a few events choreographed by either her parents or the Ministry. She uncrossed her arms and sighed, drawing the attention of the two girls in her living room back to her face.  
  
"Fine, fine." Hermione said, appearing to take the high road. "I'll do it. It's only for an hour and, besides," she looked up shyly, "I've never actually dressed up for a party that I was going to semi-willingly, at least, it's always been some event."  
  
"Well, then," Alison said, crossing the room to Hermione, "I think we could come up with something. You're pretty, Hermione. All those curls and that English skin. . ." She trailed off as she started looking at Hermione in a well-meaning critical fashion.  
  
Caitlin chimed in with an agreeing nod. "You'll look darling."  
  
"No, she won't. Twelve year olds look 'darling'. And Hermione certainly isn't twelve." Alison murmured as she reached out to put a red-tipped hand on Caitlin's arm and pull her over to a loveseat Hermione had tucked in the corner of the living room.  
  
And with that, the two American witches leaned their heads together and started whispering most disconcertingly. Hermione considered trying to discern a word or two, but when she attempted they were all things like "lipstick" or "boots". It suddenly occurred to her that she might not really have anything appropriate for the evening's festivities. She briefly considered actually stepping out to get something before she realized that she didn't know what to get and that the two women currently occupying her sunlit corner of the living room probably had very specific plans for her attire tonight. She was soon to find out, it appeared, as Caitlin and Alison shared a very satisfied nod and came out of their tête-à- tête, Caitlin started walking towards the back of Hermione's flat and Alison furrowing her brow as she looked at Hermione's hair.  
  
"This may be a little hard to tackle, but we'll see what we can do. Caitlin's going to go find something for you to wear or something we can transfigure." Alison paused and looked around the apartment. "Actually, we may have you do the actual transfiguration, you seem to be pretty good at it. Hopefully it won't come to that. . ."  
  
She trailed off as Caitlin came in brandishing a few of the casual Muggle sundresses that Hermione favored for summer. Laying them on the couch, the two girls started to debate the various merits of both of them. Hermione couldn't honestly tell the difference between them, since most of them shared the similar pattern of the simple sundress. There were different colors and a few different lengths and a few with a layer of gauzy stuff, but she'd never paid attention to all that, she'd just worn them for comfort. And looking at the tribunal her clothes were being subjected to, she had a feeling that she should've paid more attention to Lav and Pav's rantings on the weekends. She was just starting to get impatient when the girls chose one of the dresses, a butter yellow one that reached her toes and was suspended from two very thin straps, flowers where they met the bodice and a layer of pale yellow filmy material reaching to the bottom of the dress as its only decoration.  
  
"Now, we'll have to adjust it for mobility," Caitlin punctuated this with a quick version of the severing charm that left a slit to mid-thigh in Hermione's formerly modest sundress, "but other than that, this is perfect."  
  
Alison seconded that thought. "It is. Modest, but enough to show that marvelous body you appear to have."  
  
"Umm." It was all Hermione could do to utter that syllable, what with the destruction of her dress and the casual appraisal of her form. "Umm. Thank you. I suppose. I mean. . .isn't that slit a little high?"  
  
"Of course not, doll. You're a big girl and I think you can totally pull this off." Alison said as she pursed her lips. "Now don't move."  
  
Within twenty minutes, Hermione had been persuaded into the dress and her hair was pulled into a high ponytail and a light layer of lip gloss, mascara and sheer sparkle had been added to her face. Hermione had to admit that she didn't really object to what had been done. They hadn't tried to tame her hair into submission and the sparkling powder they'd put on her wasn't even noticeable, unlike some of the obnoxious glitter Lavender had been fond of. She also appreciated the surprisingly Muggle fashion with which they had gone about the whole thing. She'd have to enquire about their families at some point. Best of all, this had taken such a little amount of time, honestly, most of the twenty minutes was occupied with trying to reach a compromise between the ribbons Hermione favored and the plain band Caitlin had wanted to use. The middle ground seemed to be a band with a sparkling bit of fuzz attached to it, which Hermione had also liked.  
  
The girls stood back with a visible air of pride. It was Caitlin who spoke first. "Hermione, you're something else. I can't believe it. You don't need any of the things we put on you, seriously. Must be something in the water around here."  
  
Hermione immediately began to protest. "No, really, I don't look like this all the time. In fact, I'm really not pretty at all, I'm hardly even attractive."  
  
Alison snorted loudly as she pulled Hermione towards the bathroom, where she pushed her in front of a full-length mirror. Hermione was forced to look. She never really thought about her appearance, at all, honestly, so it never occurred to her that she might actually just be attractive. They stood there for a moment while she pondered the thought. The vivacious American witch and the brainy Brit both stared at the latter's reflection for a moment before Alison spoke.  
  
"Seriously, girl. Stop this modest act. Look at you. You're all willowy and you have those big brown eyes. Sure, your hair is probably terrifying when you wake up in the morning, but I'm almost positive anyone that you would be waking up with would not notice. I don't know how you got the idea otherwise, but it's time for you to realize you're a gorgeous woman." Here she smiled, meeting Hermione's eyes in the mirror. "I actually feel a bit silly telling you all this. You're probably just fishing for compliments."  
  
Hermione held Alison's eyes in the mirror. "Well. No. It's just that. . .I haven't had much time to be a girl. I don't have much time for all this, to be honest with you. In fact," she looked at the clock she had placed on the wall, "I have to go to the party soon and then I have to leave early. I have an important function to go to tomorrow."  
  
"More important than yourself? You need this. You've just moved out of home and you are an adult. It's true that I may have heard here and there that you're a little more than your average 18 year old girl, but you *are* an 18 year old girl. Tonight, you should enjoy that. But for now, Caitlin and I need to get ready. We'll be down in half an hour or so and we can all leave together." And with a final bright smile, Alison slid around Hermione to the living room, where both witches left the flat.  
  
Hermione, for her part, simply looked in the mirror. She couldn't believe the discussions she'd had with these two girls. Certainly, by Monday she'd be back to sticking quills in her hair to keep it up, but maybe they were right. She was a girl, as her friends had belatedly noticed. And, a sly little voice in the back of her mind added, George would be there. Maybe this would be a chance for her to see if maybe she couldn't start a normal relationship. Sure, it'd be tough for her to work on her research and see someone, but why not? Why shouldn't she? Realizing that she was still in front of the mirror, she looked closely at herself. She had turned out fairly attractive. Her hair was still the same bushy mass it had been before, but it was a pretty color. Her face wasn't bad, she had a lovely bone structure, so her mother said. Her nose wasn't big and Malfoy had taken care of her teeth for her. Her eyes were a nice light brown color. And hadn't she sat in her yard and said that she was going to get on with her life? Smiling happily at the thought of just going and being a normal 18 year old for an hour, she went into the living room to read and wait for her new friends.  
  
It shouldn't be a surprise that she was reading a brochure that her new employers had sent her about the company. She spent a happy half hour learning about the history and current status of her new employer when she heard a knock on the door. Wondering why they hadn't Flooed in before she remembered that Floo use was limited to voice and sight only in this neighborhood unless she initiated any physical use, she stood up to open the door. There were Caitlin and Alison and a man that she didn't recognize, but who had an arm around Alison's waist in a rather possessive fashion. She didn't have to wait long to find out who he was, because Alison quickly made the introduction.  
  
"Hermione, this is Eric. Isn't he a darling?" Alison smiled up at him and he smiled at her indulgently before extending a hand to Hermione.  
  
"Pleasure to meet you." He had a British accent, which almost surprised Hermione. She returned the pleasantry as she stepped outside her door, warded it and turned to her companions.  
  
"Ready to go then, Hermione? Oliver decided to stay in since he has to go to that thing you're going to and he's getting paid. He's actually really strict about what he does on a 'work night'." Caitlin rolled her eyes.  
  
Hermione bit her bottom lip in response, a gesture that she'd kept from her childhood years. "I really should be doing the same thing. I have to make a good impression." For a moment, she looked back at her door. "Well, I'll make sure I come home early, right? Right."  
  
"Oh, nonsense," Caitlin started, "I'm going and I'll be having a grand old time."  
  
Hermione stopped short. "Oh, you'll be there? Oh, of course, you're Oliver's date."  
  
And the foursome began walking off to the Apparation point, just a short distance away, amidst chatter of Hermione's decision to attend the banquet tomorrow alone. They were running a bit late, but it was a party and no one was expected to be on time, Caitlin pointed out. She would've been very surprised had she been aware of the scene that was quickly developing at Fred and George's. There were already about fifty various friends and family members over at the house the two of them were renting in one of the little corners of Diagon Alley. Hermione would've recognized many of them, as they were former classmates of hers. In fact, Fred and George were having a whispered consultation about one of the guests, Fred, Ron and Harry already having been warned off of this particular wizard.  
  
George was, as usual, being the level head. "Fred. Ginny's a smart girl, she knows what she's doing. Besides, Malfoy's a git, but he's observant. He'll get tired of being glared at soon, and he'll leave. Simple."  
  
"I don't know why," Fred scowled towards where Ginny, Malfoy's arm around her waist, was having a conversation with Seamus Finnigan, "she brought that bloody arsehole to our house. He's making it dirty. People will leave."  
  
"Gred. Relax. No one's going to leave except him. Trust me, brother mine, he'll bugger off after being given the cold shoulder long enough. Besides, Harry and Susan are here. Malfoy won't try anything with Harry around."  
  
Fred looked around quickly, noticing that the group that was supposed to have Hermione in it had arrived. He made eye contact with Caitlin and was just beginning to ask in complicated gestures where Hermione was when Caitlin pointed a finger. Looking in the direction she indicated, Fred was shocked to see that Hermione was smiling largely at Ginny and Malfoy and seemed to be taking her arms from around Malfoy's shoulders. He exhaled sharply and nudged his twin in the side.  
  
"Did. . .did our Hermione just hug Malfoy?"  
  
George rolled his eyes at his brother. "She's not our. . .wait, she hugged Malfoy? Well, they did work together for a year." He blinked abruptly, swiveling in the direction he had last seen his sister and the ferret. "I didn't know she was here. I'll be right back."  
  
He ignored the knowing wink his distracted brother gave him and started walking in that general direction, hoping to get a word in with her, maybe distract her from the warm discussion she seemed to be having with Ginny, Seamus and Malfoy. Seamus looked a little uncomfortable with Malfoy and the two of them seemed to be sizing each other up. George briefly wondered where Dean was before continuing to observe the situation. Malfoy, for his part, seemed to be conversing in a civil fashion. While George was definitely going to have a few words with his sister, at least the daftie she had brought seemed to be behaving himself. Finally reaching the group, he slid an arm around Hermione's waist.  
  
"Well, if it isn't the illustrious Miss Granger." He smiled down at the considerably shorter girl, who seemed to be turning an attractive shade of pink. "See, I somehow knew pink would look lovely on you."  
  
"C'mon, now, George, leave the girl alone." His sister smiled up at him as Malfoy seemed to press his lips together in an exercise of restraint. "Is Fred still spitting tacks?"  
  
"Ginny, we'll discuss that later." George carefully schooled his expression to one that wouldn't offend anyone present. "As for me leaving the lovely 'Mione alone, I have no intentions to do so. You three haven't even gotten her a drink." Clucking his tongue, he led Hermione away as she shrugged and waved at her three friends.  
  
Turning back to the man who was firmly clasping her elbow, she smiled up at him. "You certainly handled that well."  
  
He grinned cheekily back at her before lowering his head a bit to respond better to her. "Last time we had a party with this many people, there was a spot of trouble and the Ministry ended up popping in. Mum was so upset she sent a howler and Dad let her. If I showed that I wasn't happy with Malfoy being here, someone might think it's okay to have a scrap with the ferret and we may get into something worse than a spot."  
  
Hermione scowled briefly at the ferret reference, before realizing they'd reached the table that had been set up for beverages. "Nothing too strong, George, I have to be alert tomorrow. And Draco really isn't that bad, you know, since he's lost his paternal influence."  
  
Handing a glass of wine to Hermione, George smiled at her once again before leading her out a door and into the crowded backyard, where he transfigured an empty plastic cup into a bench.  
  
Hermione's eye only widened slightly, but her voice conveyed how surprised she was. "That was impressive, George. I had no idea you were so accomplished at transfiguration."  
  
"I may have picked up a few things here or there." He shrugged off her compliment. "Besides, we spent so much time with McGonagall in detention that she gave us some extra lessons."  
  
Hermione gave a low laugh that startled George into taking a second look at her. She was momentarily distracted by something that was going on across the yard and he had a chance to take a long glance at her. She was wearing another one of those strappy little dresses that he had a feeling Caitlin had gotten to, if the almost indecent slit on the side was any indication. Merlin, it should be illegal for witches to have legs like that, he thought to himself. Her hair was wild and only pulled back into a ponytail, unlike some girls who had teased their hair into absurd styles, and he wasn't sure she was wearing makeup. On closer examination, she appeared to have something that just left a little shine on her cheeks. Raising his eyes to determine if she had any of that absurd eye makeup that his sister wore on, he met a very amused set of honey brown eyes.  
  
Hermione had covertly watched George make his observations and had taken the moment to make some of her own. She briefly remembered thinking about another male body earlier in the summer and thought that she had been silly. Harry was a boy in comparison to George's developed physique. He had the same Quidditch muscles, only his were more developed because of his time as a Beater, which was far more physical than Harry's position. It would appear, too, that he had continued to keep in trim after leaving Hogwarts. George was taller than Harry, too, Hermione thought, before giving herself a slight mental shake. She couldn't compare everyone to Harry, even if, surprisingly, they did come out favorably. She smiled a bit, inwardly, applauding her courage. She'd never "checked out" a boy before, as she'd heard Ginny say. Continuing her observation, her eyes wandered over the same red hair that the rest of the Weasleys shared and the same blue eyes, only his seemed. . .brighter, both parts. His hair was more vibrantly reddish-orange, as opposed to his siblings, their colors ranging from Ginny's dark red hair to Percy's almost strawberry blonde colored hair. His eyes were such a brilliant blue they almost took her breath away, whereas Ron's had stayed the same watery color they had been since she'd known him.  
  
Looking back to those beautiful eyes, she realized they were slowly moving up towards her face. Should she look away or pretend she'd been waiting for him to make eye contact the whole time? She wasn't quite sure which action would be best. The schoolgirl Hermione would've looked away and blushed as opposed to coolly meeting his eyes and that solved it, she thought to herself, and schooled her features into amusement. Besides, she reasoned, it *was* amusing. He'd been giving her a very distinct once- over, thinking she was oblivious. And if was one thing she was, it was observant. She still wasn't sure why he was so interested, but years spent watching everyone around her had taught her to pay attention to people. He should've known better, she thought dizzily as his eyes met hers and reflected some of her laughter, albeit a bit bashful.  
  
"Caught, eh, Hermione?" He smiled that good-natured smile again and she had to look away. She'd been seeing it for seven years now and, for some reason, it'd chosen tonight to start inexplicably rendering her slightly dry in the throat. She'd read about this. Her body was reacting to him. Why it was doing so, she wasn't sure. This was George Weasley, one half of the Terrible Two, Ron's older brother. On the other hand, it was also George Weasley, not only an attractive wizard but, apparently, a surprisingly adult one. Who was currently flirting with her.  
  
She took a sip of her wine before looking back at him. "Indeed, George," she said, shifting so she was facing him, as opposed to just sitting beside him, her knees bumping his, "it would appear you have been."  
  
"I can't help it. This," he gestured at her, "is not the 'Mione Granger, Super Studier, that I knew. I mean, let's face it. When I met you, you were a skinny little thing, all elbows and big brown eyes and hair. Lots of hair." He began laughing and Hermione looked at him askance before joining in.  
  
"I still have lots of hair," she reached up and pulled a strand over her shoulder, "and I'm still all elbows. And I still read all the time. I never want to stop learning. You're the one who's changed. You and Fred used to be such terrors."  
  
"Fred still is a terror." George pulled a face as he thought of all the harassment he'd been receiving at the hands of his closest sibling.  
  
He didn't know that Hermione was thinking of her visit earlier. "Mmm. That he is. He's so. . .meddling. I swear, he's like a little old lady."  
  
George chimed in. "Meddling? That's something of a new one. I will say that his timing is terrible."  
  
Hermione was just opening her mouth to speak when a voice behind them started to first.  
  
"Brother mine, I'm none of the above. My timing, as you can see, is spot on. And what are you doing, keeping this charming young lady away from the party?" Fred jumped over the back of the bench, neatly separating Hermione and George with a hip. "Her friends are all inside, in awe of the Weasley twins for pulling Ms. Granger away from her books for something so silly as a party, and want visible proof of her attendance."  
  
The charming young lady in question raised an eyebrow in a skeptical manner. "Oh? Such as? Last I checked, they were all in the process of getting Gryffindor drunk and figuring out how to pound Malfoy."  
  
"Ah, yes," Fred sighed, "Gryffindor drunk. Let it never be said us Gryffindors don't do things right! Speaking of, Hermy-own-ninny, your glass is empty. Thought we'd charmed those. And, George, shame on you." Waving a wand and tsking at his brother, Fred refilled Hermione's glass for her.  
  
"Thank you, Fred, but I really shouldn't."  
  
"Yes, yes, we know. Important things for our girl tomorrow."  
  
George decided to intervene at this stage of the game and snorted at his brother's penchant for troublemaking. "She does have to meet with the people who are employing her." Turning to Hermione, he asked her directly. "Is your place as spiffing as Ali and Caitlin's?"  
  
Fred chucked and clapped him on the back before Hermione had a chance to reply. "Oliver said something about needing escorts for tomorrow, so you can look after Hermy at this to do and then see her place afterwards."  
  
Hermione and George both spoke at the same time, hoping to avoid the awkward situation that was developing.  
  
"Oh, I don't really think I *need* to take someone, the invitation just said that I could. . ."  
  
"Fred, you git, I have to work on that thing we got from Zonko's earlier, plus we're going to have to. . ."  
  
". . .but it's not required. Besides, I mean, I do need to settle in and all, plus it's a trial getting in and out of my neighborhood and. . ."  
  
". . .finish those blueprints at some point and you know Mum'll have a fit if I'm not home for dinner. Percy's bring what's her name home for and you know how. . ."  
  
They were both interrupted by Fred throwing a firework into the air where it prettily lit up their hair and stopped them all, for a moment, from speaking. Hermione, as it always seemed to be, was the first to recover.  
  
"Fred! What on earth are you doing? What was the meaning of that?"  
  
"I just wanted to say. . .I think you're complaining a little too much, hiding stuff. Who was that Muggle who said something about that? Shakerspeen?"  
  
"Shakespeare, Gred." Turning to Hermione, who was looking very surprised, George explained further. "My Mum loves some of his plays. She used to read them to us when we were younger."  
  
"Either way," Fred interrupted, "you two should go to this thing together." He paused, noticing that neither was budging and decided to try a different approach. "Although, if you can't make it, George, I'm sure that Harry or Ron would be happy to go. It'd be a reunion, I know the three of you haven't seen much of each other."  
  
George looked from his brother, who had just started clapping like a demented mermaid who'd just spotted a pink shell, to Hermione, who had gone very pale under what summer tan she had picked up. He remembered, once again, that his brother was the sneakiest, most conniving person he'd ever known and that it was far better to be with him than against him. Not that he was objecting to escorting Hermione Granger anywhere, especially not the one he'd seen here and there the last few weeks. He had rather been hoping that he wouldn't have to resort to this, though. Oh, well. He'd have to play along and then give her a chance to get out of it.  
  
"You're absolutely right, Fred." Turning to Hermione, he continued on. "What do you say, 'Mione? Shall I take you to this horribly stiff and formal gathering? Who knows, maybe I can make it a bit more interesting for you." And he threw a wink at her, hoping that his brother, who had turned to see her reaction didn't notice.  
  
For her part, Hermione had been a little surprised when George caved in to his brother's insistence. He'd switched over from the regular guy that he had been to something entirely different, something she remembered seeing earlier in their acquaintance and taking points from. It was true that she could bring a guest and she was just starting to think that maybe she should take George. He was a safe date, unlike Fred's two other suggestions. She didn't trust herself with them, to be quiet honest. Then she'd seen George's wink. Ah, she thought to herself, the game is afoot.*  
  
"Well," she said, faking hesitance, "Fred, I think that I shouldn't have to take a guest, they're not insisting on it. I'd like to focus on meeting the people I'll be working with and the board of directors. On the other hand, there's no harm in it and I can make myself appear unavailable to everyone else there, at least in that fashion." She wrinkled her nose prettily like she'd seen Ginny do to emphasize her distaste at being seen by her coworkers in a romantic way and then suddenly turned to George. "I suppose, if I must, it might as well be you."  
  
Fred, not realizing that his tables were being turned, looked delighted. "Wonderful, wonderful," he babbled, clapping his brother on the shoulder, "you kids'll have a great time. I trust the two of you to make the arrangements. Just one thing."  
  
Fred waved his wand at the two of them. "Adiuro!*" Both Hermione and George were bathed in a serene golden light. A few seconds later, the light dissipated, leaving a smirking Fred, an angry Hermione and a frustrated George.  
  
"Ah-ha! I thought so. You wouldn't be so angry, Hermy, if you weren't intending to do a bunk!"  
  
"Fred, that's a serious wizarding contract you've just bound us to! I wasn't agreeing to that! I wasn't agreeing to anything like that. And I can't remove it, so you'll have to."  
  
"Hermy, you know that I can't remove it either." Fred sighed dramatically and then brightened. "Besides, took me ages to learn that, thought you'd be proud if I showed it off." Fred gave her a cheeky wink and Hermione seemed to hesitate.  
  
"Why do you use that one? The only one without a counter," she sighed, "the only one that isn't really illegal when used in this irresponsible fashion. Though you could find yourself in all sorts of other trouble should you use it on the wrong person."  
  
George cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at his brother. "You and I will discuss this later."  
  
"Just doing you a favor, Forge, just doing you a favor." George's face darkened at his brother's potentially revealing remark and he looked about to respond when Hermione quietly cleared her throat.  
  
"George, don't, it's fine. Besides, the bugger got us good, didn't he?" She sat back and smirked a bit at their surprise. She knew when a fight was over and had bigger things to worry about. Such as the fact that she actually didn't mind being tricked into taking George. Maybe she'd even let herself get into this situation. "Besides, the banquet won't be long. I apologize, but I really must go. As wonderful as this all is," she mock- glared at the quarrelling brothers, "I have to get some sleep. Five o'clock, George, and you can ask your brother, the one right here, for directions. Wear dress robes. Please. No jokes tomorrow, okay? Good night, boys." She gave a kind look in George's direction, indicating that she didn't mean the part about the jokes quite so personally and saw him shooting a curious glance at Fred.  
  
If the look on Fred's face was any indication, he hadn't mentioned his little visit to George. Interesting, she thought to herself. That should be fun. For a moment, she almost wished she could stick around to see it. She stood up and had taken a few steps when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning around, she looked up at George's apologetic face.  
  
"I'm sorry, Hermione, I had no idea he would pull something shoddy like that. You really don't mind, do you? And I want you to know that I would never ever do anything to risk your job."  
  
"George, it's only a banquet. Official function. I have to make an appearance. Besides, it's very impersonal, these things. Meet and greet, a chance to mingle for a few seconds with everyone." She rolled her eyes, expressing her displeasure at the whole thing. "Unfortunately, these people are paying me a lot to research for them. I have to be there, and there can't be any trouble associated with me. Besides," she brightened for a moment, letting the girl George recognized out in place of this scary, *wise* Hermione he'd seen tonight, "there's going to be lots of other researchers there who have done so much interesting work! I have lots of theories that I'd like to discuss with my fellow researchers."  
  
"Well," George started, looking doubtful, "as long as you don't mind. . ."  
  
"No, it's fine. There's really no other choice and I suspect we'll muddle through." She gave him another smile, this one a bit shy, and turned and started to walk towards the back door. "I have to go, George, I'm sorry. I need to say goodbye to some people."  
  
He smiled wanly at her retreating back. She just kept slipping away like this, but at least she'd stopped at the sound of his voice. "Harry's upstairs, if you'd like the tip. One more thing?"  
  
Hermione turned again at the question implicit in his last sentence. "Yes?"  
  
"What'd you mean back there, about asking Fred where you lived?"  
  
She grimaced before rolling her eyes once again. "Your brother picks the most inopportune times to stop in. Just ask him about it."  
  
She turned to walk away again and, as he was turning to go confront his brother, it was he who felt the hand. She touched him lightly on his shoulder blade and he turned.  
  
"Thanks, George."  
  
And she hugged him, quickly, surprisingly. Before he had a chance to respond, she was gone, weaving through the crowds of people to leave.  
  
Well, he thought as he moved to ask his brother exactly what he meant by stopping by Hermione's earlier, that was interesting. He tried to ignore the tingle in his stomach. She'd only hugged him, not given him a good snogging, and it wouldn't do to be bloody warm and fuzzy when he was about to go have a pop at his brother.  
  
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8  
  
I know, crummy ending. But it's interaction and the promise of more fun stuff ahead! Yay! Next chapter, the banquet and maybe Hermione will end up showing George her apartment, eh? Let me know if there's anything weird about this chapter and remember - slow and steady wins the race.  
  
"the game is afoot" Sherlock Holmes used to say this all the time, indicating that there was some mystery, a bit of subterfuge going down.  
  
"adiuro" Latin, to promise an oath. 


	7. Leaving So Soon?

And now, friends, the moment you've all been waiting for - the Harry reaction. I've been listening to a lot of Radiohead lately, and not the friendly proto-emo of The Bends, so this might be a little more abrupt and a little more violent, but who doesn't want to see my Harry get it? Honestly, if I could think of a way to do it, I would've killed his ass off three chapters ago. Six, even.  
  
Okay, rant over. Apologies that this isn't OotP compliant, alas, because I've mentioned the twins leaving Hogwarts in the last few years in a chapter passed. So, m'bad. I'm so not going back and fixing it. I'm laaaaazy.  
  
I'm really looking forward to writing this. Jazzed up to do it, even. And, furthermore, I'm really super-looking forward to all of you showing me some love even though I've been gone forever. Honestly, you can ask, I've been moping because I just couldn't get anything to happen with my creative processes. It's all been blocked - no working on the collection of short stories, no painting, no guitar. I'm begging and pleading for your forgiveness. It's divine, you know. And look for updates on my other stuff, too, and email me if you're interested in a girl to write a story about you or play some blues at your next party. *grin*  
  
Anyway, no sleep 'til chapter eight, right, ladies and gents?  
  
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8  
  
"yeah, no one likes a smart ass, but we all like stars"  
  
-radiohead, "myxomatosis"  
  
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8  
  
Hermione wove her way out of the party, ducking and weaving through the crowds of people laughing and drinking and generally having a good time. Heeding George's warning, she moved quickly as to avoid another confrontation with The-Boy-Who-Snogged-And-Ran and get home in time to get some sleep before her huge day tomorrow. Which she couldn't get out of her mind. She still couldn't believe that George Weasley was magically bound to accompany her to a potions reception, basically, and that he'd responded favorably when she had impulsively hugged him.  
  
Alas, it wasn't meant to be, apparently, due to the hand that reached out and grabbed her shoulder from behind in a semi-deserted hallway. Fred and George really had created a rather labyrinthine house and she had somehow gotten turned around. Sure that it was a well-meaning friend trying to catch her to say goodbye, she pivoted with a vague smile on her face to cover the bit of annoyance she was feeling at being interrupted during her escape and musings.  
  
Only to come face to face with the absolute last person she wanted to run into.  
  
Harry Potter was, once again, looking rather drunk, the same glossy sheen to his normally bright green eyes, making them look positively luminescent, the same vague odor of alcohol. Hermione took a quick look around, just to see who was around and found to her dismay, that Susan, by virtue of not being attached to Harry's side, had apparently already left the party. That was one hope of rescue gone. And most of the party was already settled into a location for drinks and chatting for the rest of the evening, as these things often do. So that was another avenue of escape gone. She had just decided to brazen it out and brush him off when Harry opened his mouth first.  
  
"'Mione, you're looking good. Who put that sparkle in your eyes tonight, sweet girl?"  
  
Hermione looked at the hand he still hadn't removed from her shoulder pointedly and removed it before speaking. "Harry, how are you?"  
  
He leered at her. "Obviously not as good as you are tonight. C'mon, who is it? Malfoy? No, he's here with Ginny. Can't wait until the Weasleys break his legs for that. Longbottom? I saw 'im around here somewhere. Bloke like that's your speed."  
  
Hermione gasped at the sheer audacity of his statement. "My speed, Harry? "My speed"? What is that supposed to mean? And don't you say a word about Draco to me. Ever."  
  
"Umm," Harry stalled, possibly realizing a bit late that he'd gone too far, "Neville's a nice guy, Hermione. Safe. Couldn't break your heart with a hammer, 'Mione. It'd take someone special to do that." And he puffed out his chest a little. "But even I can notice that you're a right bird these days. Something had to cause that. You certainly weren't before. A little extra motivation, maybe?"  
  
Hermione, for her part, was steadily becoming more and more outraged. She was actually a breath away from reaching for her wand. He realized what he'd done to her earlier this summer, the bloody git. He knew he'd broken her heart, and here he was taunting her with it. This, obviously, was not the Harry she'd known, she couldn't believe the things he was saying and therefore, she had no problem with her next action.  
  
Taking one step back, she half-turned from him. "Harry? I'm going to go now. When you decide to pull your head out of the bottle and come back up with the rest of us, I'll be here. Maybe. I'm not quite sure I can forgive you for what you just said, flimsy Firewhisky excuse or not. In fact, I'm going to have to say that I'll be in touch, no need to bother, Potter."  
  
Having said that she turned around again, intending to continue her walk out the door. She was stunned when once again, Harry stopped her, this time with a hand a little firmer on her shoulder. She started twitching her hand towards where her wand was, but stopped, remembering all the times she'd told him and Ron not to resort to violence. Her patience was being sorely tested, but she couldn't actually hex him. It was still Harry and she was still very powerful. And he was drunk and it wouldn't be fair. She wouldn't, couldn't, curse him. So she simply turned back to him again. She couldn't believe his nerve.  
  
"Harry, take your hand off of me. I have a busy day tomorrow and I need to go home and sleep."  
  
"Oh, this is fine. Hermione Granger, telling me she doesn't have time. If I told you Susan and I were over, wouldn't you have some time? Sweetheart, I promise you I'm a lot better than your current options. Anyone's options, really. Ask Witch Weekly."  
  
"That's it! You are the stupidest, most selfish person I know! What happened to you? What is wrong with you? You're a drunk and you've been trading in on being the great Harry Potter since we graduated. Before we graduated. You used to have some dignity, something better than this! And you're. . .you're propositioning me like I'm some common Quidditch groupie! Harry James Potter, I was your best friend for seven years. And I don't care if you are Harry Potter, dammit, because I'm Hermione Granger! No girl should have to deal with this and I am certainly not going to." She tilted her chin defiantly, daring him to say more.  
  
"Oh, 'Mione, my best friends these days are Ron, whisky and Susan, in that order. You were handy, but you just don't understand anymore."  
  
That was the last thing she could possibly take. She didn't notice the small group of people who had been attracted by the noise she had made during her tirade. Neither one of them did, actually, both concentrating on the other. It was like an old-fashioned Malfoy-Weasley showdown, except it was Harry, who used to be her Harry, wearing that ugly smirk that Malfoy had traded out for a smile. She almost couldn't breathe, she was so angry. Her much-touted brain was having a hard time registering the things she was hearing out of the mouth of her former best friend, much less figuring out how to react to them. She did the first thing she could think of, which was stop thinking and figure out how to just get away, successfully this time.  
  
She was going into the swift motion that would result in her wand being out, realizing that Harry was too drunk to see it coming and hoping to cast a sobriety charm (she still remembered how quickly it'd gotten rid of him last time), when a hand stilled her arm and a body inserted itself into the situation. She angrily pulled her arm out of the grasp of whomever was attempting to come to her rescue when she looked up to see. . .it was George. And he was giving her a significant look, one that said to back off, that he would take care of this.  
  
How inappropriate, she thought, before wondering how he had gotten there. Looking around, she noticed a small crowd had gathered. How terrible, that the last of her friendship with Harry had to be played out in front of this audience. By tomorrow morning, it'd be on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Not for the first time, Hermione wished she weren't newsworthy, that Harry wasn't newsworthy. She briefly wondered at the consequences of this at her new place of employment before deciding that she'd pull a trick she'd learned from Dumbledore and brazen her way through it. In the meantime, she had to make a decision. Let George Weasley, of all people, be the knight to her apparent damsel, or curse Harry Potter unrecognizable. She was angry, but not that angry, she realized, standing up, dropping her wand hand, empty, to her side. George would handle this in a diplomatic fashion and, as a guest, she really should cede the situation to her host. Cocking her head at George, she dropped her eyelids, causing her eyelashes to sweep gracefully over her cheeks, signifying her wordless acceptance of his assistance. It was a still nod, confirming that she trusted him enough to get her out of this situation.  
  
George, for his part, had been worried something like this might happen and had been in motion the second he heard the first whispers of an issue beginning to drift through the party like so much flame. Hermione was certainly by no means incapable of handling herself, but he wasn't sure he trusted the new Harry to handle the situation well. He'd been talking quietly to Ginny, Malfoy having gone to the loo, when Fred had come up to him and mentioned that perhaps one of them should go check on the situation developing in their hallway because rumor had it that Hermione was involved and Harry was there. Actually, what Fred had said, exactly, was that he was giving his brother first shot at whichever git was harassing his girl because Harry was probably too cabbaged to deal with whatever was the problem.  
  
Not taking the time to correct his brother's misuse of the term, he had turned away from his little sister in an instant, flowing through the party to get to where the whispers seemed to be coming from. He completely missed the look that passed between his other siblings in his haste to find out what the problem was and solve it before the Ministry showed up again. The groups had gotten quieter and quieter as he sped through their maze of a house and he was getting more and more worried. He realized the one thing that his brother didn't - as opposed to Harry simply being unable to deal with whatever was happening, he probably was the cause of it. And he remembered the broken Hermione he'd seen in her bedroom, all the fire in her cinnamon eyes dampened by the boy who was consistently losing George's respect. By the time he reached the place where the altercation was happening, quickly moving through the witches and wizards who were stepping aside to let the host deal with the problem, he'd decided that he was going to banish Harry to someplace cold where they didn't have Quidditch. Russia was an ideal spot, he thought to himself, grimly appraising the situation.  
  
Harry and Hermione were in a hallway, Hermione was looking angry, as opposed to upset. Part of him wanted to cheer and the other part of him knew that things must be really bad. Hermione had always been like this with Ron, but never, not ever, with Harry, unless it was in that well- meaning fashion she used in attempts to get him to realize something. Furthermore, George heard the last thing Harry had said to Hermione and realized that the assembled crowd, who were all trying to look like they just happened to be there, had gasped at his harsh words. Frankly, George was shocked. Harry never used to be this vindictive. He could only begin to imagine what Harry had said to Hermione earlier. It made him angry, more than angry, but he was the calmer of the two. He was almost thankful for his brother's misconception. Fred would've been too shocked to do anything and then he would've restrained Harry in a less-than-friendly manner. George was going to at least attempt to handle this in a family manner, getting Harry out of the public eye before he took a strip out of him.  
  
In the split second after he'd gotten there, though, and decided he was glad he was taking care of the situation, it almost looked like it was going to get out of hand. He recognized the same motion Hermione had used in her bedroom and realized he had to move quickly to get to her before she got it out. She had quick reflexes, his Hermione (no time to wonder where that came from, he mentally chided himself) did. So he had to move quicker, calling upon his Quidditch-trained reflexes to get between her and the bludger, so to speak. Moving forward, he placed a gently restraining arm on her wrist, attempting to communicate that he was here to help and that he didn't blame her for wanting to kill Harry right now, or at least permanently disfigure him. He wasn't sure he managed to communicate that in a single touch, but he did know Harry was going to be doing a lot of "product testing" in the future.  
  
He almost sighed out loud when she came up without her wand, he was so relieved. Hermione was upset and clever and could've really done some damage that she would regret later. He was also proud that Hermione, the most capable person he knew, the smartest witch any of them knew, this clever girl. . .well, he couldn't get out of hand, here, he had other things to deal with. But, as it was, she'd let him take over for her. She'd placed her trust in his hands. Now he had to figure out a way to take care of this, of her. Noticing his twin had moved into the area, he exchanged a significant look with him after tearing his eyes away from Hermione's rapidly calming expression. It was easy to be fascinated with the way her high color just seemed to be melting off her face like so much running paint. Fred seemed to get the message he'd been trying to send to him with just that glance and moved off. Sometimes he swore that he and his closest sibling shared a brain, they thought so much alike once in a while.  
  
Being reassured that Harry would soon be taken home and either beat or tucked into bed after some tearful recriminations, depending on who Fred got on the Floo or found at the party. Either way, Harry was leaving. And someone was coming who would get him to do it without a fight. He just had to keep him busy until that person got there. Right. He could do that.  
  
"Harry, old chum! What's this? You and Hermione practicing? The battle's been long over, as I know you know." George chuckled, his eyes boring into Harry's, sending him telepathic messages to back off.  
  
Harry looked a bit shifty for a moment, then seemed to notice the crowd. His thoughts, though a lot blurrier, were in the same vein as Hermione's. The last thing he needed was to get called into the manager's office again. Harry Potter harassing a girl, his female former best friend, no less, was sure to make the papers. Best to minimize the damage, then, and talk to her later. No, forget that. He didn't need Hermione Granger. All she'd been doing was riding along with him. He didn't need anyone but Old Ogden and Susan. And Ron, he belatedly added in his drunken haze. He hadn't really been spending that much time with Ron this summer, since Ron actually had to work and Harry didn't. He still stopped by the store, but got tired of being drafted to help. George had been particularly insistent that Harry help test products lately, which he wasn't too fond of.  
  
He finally pulled himself out of his reverie long enough to put on his most charming grin and look around. "It's always good to be prepared, you know."  
  
"Yes," George started, "but surely you can find less attractive targets to work on than the divine Miss Granger." He winked to the crowd, tipping his eyes to where a blush was just starting to form on Hermione's face and then sliding them just as quickly back to her, silently saying to play along.  
  
Harry started to open his mouth and then closed it as he saw the look that passed between Hermione and George. He may have had a few drinks, but he wasn't stupid. So this was what was happening. George. George Weasley was why Hermione was looking so good lately. She'd never had that sparkle for him, that's for sure.  
  
Never mind that he hadn't deserved it. The thought simply didn't occur to Harry and then Ron was there, taking him by the arm and the moment was gone before he could do much than smile boyishly at his former and current friends. It was a smile that he traded on regularly, his "everything's okay, I'm Harry Potter, I have the scar" smile. Hermione noted it sadly. He never used to be like this, she repeated to herself. But she couldn't change it and it wasn't her fault, and the best thing she could do was toddle off and never look back. She should send him a note thanking him for seven, no, six years, she thought to herself, hardly noticing that Ron was leading Harry off until she noticed Alison, Caitlin and George were surrounding her, looking concerned. Alison and Caitlin were talking a mile a minute in sharp tones but George was just looking at her.  
  
". . .can't believe he would do such a thing!" That was Alison, looking for all the world like she was going to go after Harry herself.  
  
"I know. I don't care how famous you are or how many baddies you've beaten. He had no right." Caitlin looked just as scandalized.  
  
Both of them realized belatedly that Hermione was still among them and turned to her, clucking over her pale face and the tired look that had suddenly appeared on her face as the adrenaline levels in her body dropped.  
  
"Oh, sweetie, let me walk you home. I can walk you to the building and then come back." Alison was looking directly at the exhausted girl now, examining her closely for any signs of trauma.  
  
For the first time since getting rid of Harry for the moment, George spoke, looking tired. "No, I'll take her. You have a date and I believe that Oliver changed his mind and decided to come after all, Caitlin. I can walk Hermione home."  
  
And over all three girls' protests, he proceeded to do just that. Sketching a gallant bow to Hermione, who had been saying she could see her own way home, he took her by the arm and led her away from the two girls. Neither of them spoke until they were out the door, having been given a respectable distance by the other partygoers, who were noticeably quieter.  
  
"You know, George, you're still a trickster and I still don't know what you're going to do half the time, but you handled that really well. Thank you."  
  
George, not thinking of much beyond the fact that Hermione had tucked her hand into his arm in a companionable manner, responded in a quiet voice. "Oh, 'Mione, it was the least I could do. I'm still, I think, the only one who knows about earlier this summer. I'm just sorry that had to happen."  
  
Hermione looked up at George appraisingly. "I still can't believe that this is you, you know. I keep waiting for you to throw a dungbomb at me."  
  
"Nah," he grinned at her, "I only do that to the girls I really like."  
  
"So you don't really like me?"  
  
Hermione instantly regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. She didn't mean to say them, but she was tired and her guard was down. She simply hadn't thought before she spoke, which was possibly the second time she'd ever done that. Honestly. That kind of blatant searching was for the likes of Lavender and Pavarti. It definitely wasn't her style. On the other hand, she mused, it wasn't like she had a style. Maybe she could develop one.  
  
George watched the play of emotions across her face and decided to wait a bit. Fortunately, they were at Dumbledore Park. "Hrm. It would appear that we're ready to Apparate to Puddlemere, my 'Mione." And with that, he simply sent them both spinning through space to reappear at the Apparation point in Puddlemere.  
  
Both of them walked in silence for a while, until they were almost to her house. Hermione had a nervous air about her, like a string that had been pulled too taut. He couldn't resist, though. A few times she seemed like she was about to speak, but didn't. Seeing Hermione discomfited like this was almost worth it. Besides, he'd put her mind to ease. They were actually turning onto the tree-lined street that her building was on when Hermione broke the silence.  
  
"I seem," she said a little sardonically, "to be a bit more exhausted than I thought I was. That was rather forward of me."  
  
George smiled and then swung her around so that he could place both his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She froze a little, at first, nervous at the contact, and then relaxed.  
  
"Nonsense, 'Mione. It was a question. I have an answer."  
  
And with that, he did the only thing he could think to do, the thing that he'd been thinking about since she'd hugged him. She wanted to know if he really liked her. Well, before he started thinking about how lucky he was that she seemed to care about the fact, he'd have to do something about it. Loosening the hug, he drew back a bit.  
  
Just enough to change the angle of their bodies so he could press his lips to hers easily. And Hermione didn't even think about it. Later she would wonder if it was because she was tired or because George had come to her rescue or because she was just starved for affection. And the answer would be the same as the sensation she felt now. That George was right for her, period. That she felt comfortable with him. That she had no reputation to uphold around him, that she'd known him forever, that he was sweet and funny and kind. It was partially because she was tired and her defenses were rapidly disappearing - she just wasn't as scared as she normally would've been. It was because George had come to her rescue. He hadn't needed to do that, and sure it was just as much for his sake as hers. But the look on his face when he had looked down at her didn't say "I'm trying not to have Aurors knock on my door tonight", it said "Let me help you." And the fact that she had let him didn't hurt matters. She just had this weird innate trust in him.  
  
But for now there was just the night and a light breeze and the moon shining down on a quiet Puddlemere street where two people seemed to be joined at all the important points. Her arms were draped around his neck, his hands at her waist. It was a classic pose, and neither of them felt the least bit conscious of it. Nothing that felt this easy could be anything else.  
  
When they finally broke apart after what seemed like forever, they were both smiling. George had a wide grin on his face and Hermione a dreamy sort of smile. She actually reached a slender hand up to touch her lips.  
  
"That really happened, didn't it?"  
  
"Yeah. Much better than dungbombs, in my opinion. This is what I do for girls I really really like."  
  
The teasing seemed to draw the sleepy Hermione back to the situation and she raised an eyebrow. "Oh? I suppose I'm in a long string of them, then." And she faked a deliberate sigh before smiling up at him and turning to open the door to her building.  
  
"Don't go fishing, Miss Granger. After all, you won't see them. Much." If possible, his grin got broader at her small snort. He couldn't see if she was smiling, as she was walking up the stairs in front of him, but he heard the warm tones of her voice that indicated he would if the angle was different.  
  
"Tomorrow. We should talk tomorrow, then." She seemed reluctant to be the voice of reasons, but was cognizant of the fact that they were standing in her hallway the night before her introduction to all of her future peers. And that if they stayed there, she could possibly have a long night ahead of her. "I have to be Hermione Granger, after all, so I need some sleep. Brain sleep, my dad used to say. . ."  
  
George, for his part, was relieved to see that she had a sense of humor about the expectations that came along with being one third of the Dream Team, as opposed to Harry and Ron, who let it go straight to their heads.  
  
"Funny, I thought I could try being Hermione Granger tomorrow." He affected a high-pitched voice, playfully mocking her. "I'm bloody brilliant, didn't you know?"  
  
"Ha, ha. I am not amused." He smiled at the fact that she wasn't angry and then sighed as she put up a hand to hide the yawn that stretched her delicate features and her expression turned serious. "We will talk tomorrow, then. But I have to go now. And you should get back to your party."  
  
"I know, I know. Good night, fair princess." And once again, he sketched a bow and this time, kissed her hand. He didn't realize it, but he was unconsciously answering the question Hermione had asked herself mere days ago. All he knew was that she seemed to smile like he had given her the right question to a problem she'd presented him as a test.  
  
"Good night, George. Thanks again. I'll see you tomorrow. Besides, don't you know you can't be the princess and the witch?" He looked confused and she almost explained but the moment passed when she tipped her face up a little, to look straight into his eyes and he couldn't help dropping a kiss onto her upturned nose. Smiling, he indicated that she should open her door and step inside.  
  
She did and turned for a moment, looking strangely elfin, with her slight nose and big brown eyes and luminous smile. She tipped her head at him sleepily.  
  
"I'm glad you won the fight. One more thing - was Oliver really there?"  
  
George immediately recognized that she was talking about the minor battle over who would take her home and smiled. "Pure intimidation. And the Oliver thing. So I guess a few lies." The smile slid straight into a broad, slightly lopsided, grin.  
  
"That's horrible. Good thinking. Sweet dreams."  
  
"You, too. I'll be here at five."  
  
"Make it four and I'll throw in some pre-banquet snacks. The food at these things is always awful."  
  
"Deal." And George reached out and touched her cheek, softly, quickly.  
  
She looked up at him and smiled before closing the door.  
  
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It's now five a.m.. Look how devoted I am. This may not be as carefully checked because I don't really beta and I'm far too tired and too eager to get this out to you, my beloved fans (ha, I do love you, but that sure was arrogant of me to assume), as soon as possible. Sorry this was mostly description, but there was action. And a smooch! A real smooch! No good post-smooch thing, except for maybe some witty rapport. Am I making my George too good? I don't think so. Okay. Let me know.  
  
Anyway, post-kiss reactions next chapter. It's time for bed for this happy author. 


	8. The Morning After

Disclaimer: I forgot last time. I'm sorry. All hail JKR! This isn't anything I came up with. Well, *this* is. The concept and characters and anything you recognize isn't.  
  
Hi. Sorry? Can we be friends again? This is an interlude, a little thing to get me back into this. We had a semi-happy moment and I lost it for a minute. Plus I had hella stuff going on. Anyway, enough excuses. Expect a longer chapter this week, I swear. I'm on Spring Break. So. I have the time. I have the energy. I have the devotion to you, my wonderful readers. *grin*  
  
I'm so glad to be working on this again.  
  
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"open your eyes, look right into the sunrise, it's waiting only for you"  
  
-matthew sweet, "morning song"  
  
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The sun was streaming through the window and reflecting off the walls, throwing a warm glow through out the room when Hermione woke up the next morning. She rolled over to look at the clock, taking a minute to stretch luxuriously before smiling at Crookshanks, who was sleeping at the foot of her bed. A brief frown marred her sleep-warm features as she remembered her encounter with Harry last night. The frown was quickly replaced by a thoughtful look as she reviewed the rest of the evening.  
  
She had kissed George Weasley. Well, he had kissed her. Either way, she had participated in a kiss with George Weasley. And it had happened right in front of her building, on the street, like something out of a silent movie. Her momentarily serious face broke into a smile as she swung her legs out of bed. Leaving her pajamas on, she wandered into the kitchen, where she started a pot of coffee. It was a little after nine a.m. and, while it was late for her, she was surprised to hear noises from the flats above and below hers. She hadn't figured Alison or Caitlin would be awake this early, especially since they had stayed at the party even later than she had. She wondered if she should see how the rest of the event had gone, before deciding that she'd rather have the morning to herself to prepare for the banquet.  
  
In the second after she'd completed that thought, though, she heard a knock on the door. Remembering her thought last night about how nice it would be to have some female companionship for once, she grinned ruefully and walked to the door, opening it to reveal Alison, who was still wearing her pajamas and talking a mile a minute.  
  
"Oh, Hermione," the girl breathed, pulling Hermione into a quick hug before moving past her into the living room and sitting cross-legged on the couch, "last night was so cool! I can't believe that happened!"  
  
Hermione was puzzled for a minute before she realized what Alison must have been referring to. "Oh, George intervening? I could've handled it." Before Alison had a chance to respond, Hermione looked back up at her, a small frown on her face. "It was nice of him. It would've been nicer had the situation not arisen at all."  
  
Alison looked sympathetic for a minute. "It is a shame that your friend acted like that." Seeing the look on Hermione's face, she quickly added, "Not that he's your friend anymore. But! George walked you home and I'm dying to know how that was. We would've done it, but he told Caitlin that Oliver was there and. . .well, she had to go check."  
  
Hermione had the grace to look a little guilty after that statement. "Oh, that. George mentioned something about that not necessarily being true after we left.  
  
"Yes, yes," Alison murmured impatiently, "that's all fine and well, but what happened afterwards?"  
  
Hermione got up and smiled to herself as she refilled her coffee cup. "Coffee? No? Okay, then." Returning to the living room, she sat down on the unoccupied end of the couch before leisurely responding. "He walked me home. Just like he said he was going to."  
  
Alison gave Hermione a look that could only be described as withering before pressing for details. "And?"  
  
"And, what?" So this was what it was like, Hermione thought to herself. Here she was, the night after a party, teasing someone with information. She wasn't explaining away any attention she had gotten, she wasn't hiding because she didn't want to hear about anyone's exploits. She was sitting here hiding her own. Or, at least, not revealing everything. While she was still cautiously optimistic about being friends with these two girls, she had to admit that she was having a bit of fun.  
  
"Oh, god, Hermione, out with it." Hermione was jerked out of her reverie by a poke in the side. She shot Alison her very best Head Girl look before she caught herself and was dismayed to see the pretty American's face slide into a look of distaste. Hermione wasn't terribly surprised, she had once made Professor Sinastra flinch, entirely by accident, with that look during a particularly stressful meeting.  
  
"Well, girl, if you'd rather not, I won't push." Alison started to get up, but was stopped by Hermione placing a restraining hand on her arm.  
  
"I'm sorry, Alison," Hermione said quietly and with an apologetic smile, "I'm still getting used to the idea." She gestured around, encompassing the room and the two of them. "I'm still getting used to all the ideas, really." She was relieved when Alison's face softened and the girl settled back into the couch.  
  
"That's fine, honey." Alison laughed, the silvery sound filling the living room. "It's a good thing you moved here. We'll give you plenty of time to 'be a girl', as you put it last night. Tell me what you want to tell me, if you want to tell me anything at all."  
  
Hermione bit her lip before muttering, "He kissed me. Right in the street. Anyone could've been looking."  
  
Alison laughed louder this time, peals that bounced off the walls, making Hermione reluctantly smile. Though she wasn't quite sure what was so funny about making a public spectacle out of her first kiss since that fateful June night.  
  
"Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. It's just that this is a research block. The reason we're all in this building is not only because Caitlin and I are from the States, but because we're practically the only people under eighty on the whole block. Which isn't necessarily old, but most of our neighbors tend to be early to bed types. I doubt anyone saw you. Say," Alison started, "was it good? The Weasleys are a fairly sexy group, I'm bitterly envious that you've known them for so long."  
  
Hermione turned a deep scarlet before muttering something nearly incoherent.  
  
"What," Alison said, obviously prodding the other girl, "I didn't quite catch that."  
  
"Yes. It was great. It was amazing." Hermione looked like she was considering more, but decided to keep anything else to herself. Alison, taking the hint, started to unfold herself from the couch and moving towards the door.  
  
"Awesome. While I hate to pry and run, I know you have that banquet later tonight and," throwing a mischievous wink at Hermione, Alison slyly paused, "I know you want to look your best."  
  
Hermione looked up at a clock in the kitchen and noticed the time herself. "Oh! I hadn't realized - it's almost eleven! I wanted to do some reading before tonight."  
  
"I'm sure you do," Alison smirked, "and I'm sure that George won't pop by at all early today. No, no," she continued, openly grinning at Hermione's look of dismay, "he didn't say anything, it's just a hunch. I'll leave you to it."  
  
With a final wave, Alison moved through the door but didn't, Hermione noted, go upstairs, choosing to move down to the lower level instead. Well, she thought, this was what it was like to be one of the girls. Alison had swept in here like a thunderstorm, gotten the information and left. She'd seen Lavender do it to unsuspecting victims a million times. Smiling at the thought, she stood up and moved towards the bathroom, deciding that maybe she'd indulge and do her reading while she was having a good soak.  
  
It was at the end of this good soak, having made significant progress in a book she was reading about the results of the Cruciatus curse on middle- aged wizards, that she heard the strange tapping that could only mean one thing.  
  
Hermione, it seemed, had mail. She grinned sardonically at herself as she realized that she actively wanted it to be from George. Shrugging into a robe, she took a moment to put her hair up into a towel while she thought about it. Did that mean she wanted to be actively involved with George? If it was his owl, did that mean he wanted to be actively involved with her? She hadn't thought much about their shared moment in the moonlight, other than as a potential source of embarrassment. She'd admitted to Alison that she enjoyed it, though. And she hadn't lied, she really had enjoyed it. George Weasley had done something few were able to do these days - he had surprised her. He was intelligent, thoughtful and managed to get past her warily placed defenses. And while she was hesitant about admitting anything even to herself, she was, she realized, open to exploring the option. She obviously didn't know George as well as she thought, judging from his behavior the last few days. Who knew what else she hadn't noticed before?  
  
Shaking away her ponderous thoughts and moving from the bathroom to the window in the living room, she was both surprised and relieved to see Gratiano. That answers that, she thought to herself, noting the odd feeling in the pit of her stomach when she saw the bright owl - she did want it to be George. And since it likely was, she was curious to see what he held in the bundle clutched in his talons. Shooing Crookshanks from his position in front of the window, where he was observing the owl, his tail twitching, she unlatched the window, allowing the owl to swoop in, drop his bundle on the table and perch for a moment on the back of her chair.  
  
"Hey, there, little bird," she cooed, petting him and smiling when he reached out to give her fingers an affectionate nip before he held out his leg, where a note was attached with her name on the outside of the scroll. Taking the scroll, she hesitated, wondering if she should open the package or the letter first.  
  
"What do you think, clever owl? Do I need to read this or should I open the package." The owl hooted softly, seemingly swiveling his head towards the letter. "Listen to me, talking to owls. . ." Hermione decided to read the letter first, but decided she'd better see Gratiano off first since she wanted to take her time. Digging some owl treats out of a drawer, she put them in a bowl and placed them in front of the bird, who carefully selected some before softly hooting once more and through the open window to the sunshine that filled the air.  
  
Hermione decided to leave the window open and moved to the couch, where Crookshanks was still looking at the window as if he hoped the owl would return. Preferably when his mistress wasn't there to intervene.  
  
"Oh, Crooks, you haven't gotten used to them yet, have you? Silly cat." She stroked his fur while she looked at the letter. She was almost afraid to open it. What if it was a letter saying he couldn't make it tonight? What if it was from Fred and not George? And, her primary nature surfacing, she wondered if she should ward a small area to open it all. This was still Gred and Forge she was dealing with, no matter how sweet and sensitive the latter seemed to be. She was, unsurprisingly, still a little wary after the Portkey incident. Swallowing her nervousness while scolding herself for being silly, she opened the letter, only to find it wasn't a letter. Not as such, per se. One line, not even a signature.  
  
"I couldn't think of anyone I'd rather test these on."  
  
It wasn't signed, but Hermione was nothing if not observant. The handwriting matched the letter she had gotten from George when he had covered her room in glitter. It could've been Fred, she acknowledged, but the handwriting was absolutely identical. Besides, George was right- handed, Fred preferred his left, which changed the way the letters would slant. Right, then, she breathed, this is from George. Moving over to the bundle and holding it cautiously, she untied the string that held an outer layer of paper around whatever it was.  
  
She smiled, her breath leaving her in a rush, as she saw bright red flowers spilling out of the wrapping. Tulips, she noted. He'd sent her tulips, live ones, even. Picking them up, she held them to her nose, inhaling deeply.  
  
She almost dropped them, though, when the flowers rustled and started to emit sound.  
  
"Roses are red, violets are blue, not a witch in England is as smashing as you."  
  
Laughing out loud at the silly poem, she was inordinately pleased to note that it was George's voice reciting the absurd variation of the old childhood valentine.  
  
Well, she thought, settling back into her chair with the flowers gently resting in her lap, that certainly solved *that* puzzle. How could she not be interested in George? She just needed to figure out now was how she felt about that. Pursing her lips, Hermione immediately started thinking about the implications of her attraction to George. There were a million things to consider. What would her parents think of him, how would Ron react, would he be able to deal with her schedule? Would he distract her from work? Was he serious about her or was this a fling for him? She thought about it for a moment, but all she could focus clearly on was how his hands felt on her waist last night as he kissed her.  
  
Answering questions, she thought for possibly the first time in her life, could wait. Smiling, she stood up and moved to put the tulips in water, smelling them once more and hearing the charming couplets erupt into her kitchen, she decided she was going to finish her book. Then, she thought, she'd go consult her new in-house fashion consultants and she'd whip up some snacks and she'd sit down and relax for a minute with a boy she adored.  
  
One that, for once, might adore her back.  
  
8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`8`  
  
Again, I'm sorry. Again, I promise to be a better author and not leave you hanging forever. In fact, George and Hermione are going to the banquet next chapter, aren't you thrilled? C'mon, I know you are. No? Well, Oliver and Caitlin will be there. . .perhaps a professor or two. . .you never know. . . 


End file.
